It's All A Dream
by chicadoodle
Summary: What if everything you thought was true turned out to be a lie? full summary inside no pairings currently .... it was all just a dream .... hogwarts, magic .... chapter 7 uploaded.
1. Chapter 1

Thanks to my wonderful beta Aoimoku for looking this over, and for the lovely comments she sent me with the beta'ed version.

Summary: What if everything you thought was true turned out to be a lie? Harry wakes up in a hospital, surrounded by his family -- most notably, his parents, Lily and James Potter. He has been in the hospital since he was 10 years old, creating an entire world inside his imagination as he lay in a coma-like state. Hogwarts is a figment of his imagination, nothing more. Or so they say.

Allison B. Costa

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Aaron Lightner had been a doctor a long time -- he had known from a very young age just what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He had thought that no case could shock him, could turn him away. He had thought his heart had hardened enough against the suffering of the human race, to deal with anything. That was before he had met Harry.

The boy had been an enigma, from the very first day. Already in a coma for two years before he had had the pleasure of coming into contact with his particular case, there was no apparent reason why he couldn't simply wake up any time he chose. He _simply chose not to_. A testament to the power of the human mind, certaintly, and it's ability to manipulate the body.

Harry was an enigma -- unlike anything he had even heard of, or read about. In his late forties now, that was quite a bit. Even now, two and a half years later, it still surprised him sometimes, how unique the boy truly was. Harry Potter truly was a unique, amazing child. One could only wonder what he would be like, if he would only wake up.

--

He felt strange, heavy, as if he had been asleep for a long time. The last thing he remembered, Hermione and Ron had been bickering about whether Harry should sneak into Hogsmeade, as he had once again been denied the privelage by the Headmaster, due to "security reasons". While he could understand Hermione's reasons for wanting to keep him safe in the castle, it was just so _boring_ -- and he certaintly didn't want to give Malfoy more ammunition to use against him in the comming term.

Everything after that had gotten kind of .. fuzzy, as if he had been an outsider looking in through a foggy, obscured window. Blinking rapidly against the bright room, Harry nearly groaned out loud. Great - the Hospital Wing. As he attempted to sit up, however, Harry frowned to find himself being restrained, leather straps holding him securely to the bed. As panic began to swell in his chest, he realised belatedly that the room he was in, while blindingly white and certaintly a hospital room of some sort, was certaintly not the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Instead, it appeared to be a muggle institution of some sort, if the machines he seemed to be hooked up to were any indication.

Swallowing thickly, and jerking once again against the bonds to test their strength, Harry sighed heavily, blowing at his dark bangs in frustration. Hermione had been right. He really did need to be more careful. At the sound of footsteps, he quickly closed his eyes, however, stilling his movements as much as he could, silently cursing his restless body as the steps drew closer and closter, finially pausing outside of the open door, the sound of voices drifting in.

"He's been calmer lately, but I can't promise anything, as I'm sure you can understand. Not without administering the treatments we talked about earlier."

"No. We've already discussed this, doctor." Another voice interrupted the first, and Harry frowned, the voice tugging at the back of his memory, like a memory from a dream. Where did he know that voice from? Somewhere ...

"Please, I'd just like to see Harry, James. We can talk about his later, alright?" This voice was softer, and obviously feminine, and again, Harry felt that tug at the back of his memory. So familiar ... but where had he heard those voices from? The unfamiliar voice picked up the thread again, a note of apology in his voice.

"Of course, of course. Please, go right ahead. I have some paperwork I need to finish -- just let the security office know when you're ready to leave -- they'll let me know." "We know, doctor. We've been through his before. Several times, in fact."

Harry stiffened as the door began to open wider, shadows know visible across the floor, and Harry focused on those, keeping his eyes lowered and feigning sleep. However, when a hand came down gently on his head, he couldn't help the involuntary reaction, jerking his head away from the touch and meeting the surprised green eyes of Lily Potter. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl then, as he stared at the woman he had last seen at the end of Voldemort's wand, now solid and real and _touchable_, staring at him as if _he_ were the apparition, not her.

"Harry?" She whispered, and he jumped once again at the sound of her voice, wetting his suddenly dry lips as his gaze flicked over to the man standing beside her, a hand on her back, staring with the same intensity as his wife at the boy before them. "What's going on? Who are you people?" They were the first words he thought of, and Harry instantly winced at how stupid they sounded -- and how useless. He _knew_ who they were -- or, at least, who they were supposed to be. At those words, something seemed to snap in the couple, as Lily let out a small gasp, rushing to sit beside him, and James hurried to the intercom decorating a panel beside the door, quickly pressing the adjoining button and speaking rapidly in to it.

"Harry? It's Mom .. don't you remember me?" There was a tremble in her voice, and Harry almost found himself feeling sorry for her -- _almost_. He refused to feel sorry for anybody willing to impersonate an orphan's dead parent's. Jerking against the bonds, almost of his own volition, and against his earlier claim that he would remain calm no matter what, Harry flinched away from the touch of her fingers, glaring heatedly at the red-haired woman. "Let me go."

It was then that James came back to the bed, slowly settling into one of the two chairs that were situated beside the bed, a strange look in his eyes. "Harry, Dr. Lightner is on his way. Do you think you can stay awake?"

"Of course I can stay awake, I just woke up." Harry ground out, glaring at the man's fake sympathy, and one again jerking his head away from the touch of soft fingers on his head. A pained look passed over Lily's face, before she settled herself back into the only other unoccupied chair in the room, arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off a chill, worrying on her lower lip, head bowed. They sat in a tense silence, James opening his mouth several times, as if he were about to say something, only to close his mouth again with a frown, glancing at his wife worriedly before opting for continuing silence. This was repeated several times, before the door was finally opened, not with the bang that Harry had been expecting, but softly and calmly, almost as if it was being carefully controlled.

A middle-aged man with graying brown hair and sharp brown eyes made his way inside, closing the door just as gently and quietly as he had opened it, coming to stand at the foot of the bed, a clipboard in his hand. Harry instantly tried to sit up, before glowering as he remembered that he was being held in place. He settled for directing his annoyed glare at the man, whom he could only assume was the doctor from before. The assumption was proved true when the man began speaking.

"Harry, can you understand me?" The words were carefully pronounced, as if he were some kind of dunderhead who couldn't understand simple English, and Harry found himself quickly becoming annoyed with the careful way he had thus far been treated, as if he were some kind of invalid one had to be careful with. "Yes. Who are you?" He asked shortly, and was instantly rewarded with the man jumping in surprise, and quickly beginning to scribble furiously on a piece of paper attatched to his clipboard. Harry sighed in frustration, watching as the man continued to write for several moments, before glancing back up.

"My name is Dr. Lightner. Do you know what your name is?" Harry raised an eyebrow at that, before an idea suddenly began to form in his head. "Harry?" He phrased it as a question, watching the other man to see what he would do. It was almost as if this was what the man had been expecting, because he breathed a small sigh of ... relief? And didn't write anything down this time, instead taking the seat the woman had just vacated, on his bed and uncomfortably close by.

Clenching his teeth tightly together, Harry watched the man's every movement, ready to put up one hell of a fight should he attempt anything even remotely suspicious. Instead, Lightner placed the clipboard beside himself, smiling down at the dark-haired boy beside him. "How about we get those straps off you? You don't look like you're about to hurt yourself this afternoon, so I think it might be safe." He said all of this quietly, his every movement slow and in plain sight, seeming to understand his charge's need for a sense of security. Harry said nothing to this, not wanting to make the man stop. If he could get out of these bonds, maybe he could make a break for it ...

As soon as the straps had been loosened and removed, Harry quickly sat up, intending to rub at his wrists and ankles where the straps had been bothering him the most -- even if they hadn't actually hurt. They'd been cushioned, at the very least. However, before he could make any further movements, a sharp pain tore through his body, and he gasped softly, unable to stop an involuntary wince and slight jerk of his body, which immediately brought the doctor's hands down on him, pushing him back so that he was lying on the bed. "His muscles are cramping. James, call for help."

The man quickly went to obey, and Harry was dimly aware of somebody talking in the background, and of another voice quickly answering. However, most of his attention was focused on the pain ripping through his arms and legs, and the hands that were gently kneading at his body, loosening far too tight muscles and bringing him small spurts of relief, before another muscle seized up and the whole process would be repeated again.

He came to some time later, to find that the hands were no longer there, and he was curled up on his side, arms wrapped around himself and glasses missing. He could see relatively well, better than he thought he should without his glasses, but it was still annoying. Not daring to move -- not after what had happened the last time he had -- Harry slowly lifted only his head, taking in his surroundings once again.

On a new table beside his bed, he found a pair of glasses, looking nothing like the one's he remembered, but fitting his perscription perfectly. Taking a chance, he slowly reached forward, prepared for mind-numbing pain to once again rip through his body. However, nothing happened, other than a slight tensing of his arms, and he was able to properly situate the glasses on his nose, peering out at the room in surprise.

At some point, he must have been moved, for he was now in a brightly lit room, sunlight streaming in through a large window adorning one side of the room, a table nearby littered with get-well cards and numerous flowers, and even a present or two. Blinking owlishly at the sheer number of them, Harry smiled slightly, leaning over to look for Ron or Hermione's names, or even just the name Weasley - with the number of people in their family, he was bound to get something from them. Maybe a sweater from Mrs. Weasley -- she seemed obsessed with knitting them -- he always got _something_ home-made at least once a year, sometimes more.

However, his search came up blank as all the names were unfamiliar to him .. until he reached one present with a hand-written note "_FROM MOM & DAD_". Glaring at the gifts and cards now, Harry slid carefully from the bed, wincing at his arm twinged in response ... and instantly crashed down to the ground.

Swearing under his breath, Harry listened with baited breath for the sound of running footsteps, and breathed a sigh of relief when only silence reached his ears. Pushing himself carefully up to his hands and knees, he frowned at the amount of energy and effort was required to do that, and could only surmise that whatever spell had been used on him was still in effect. Some kind of weakening spell ...?

Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to make it back to the bed, curling up on the surface tiredly and staring at the door with a scowl firmly fixed in place. However, there was only so long that a teenager could stay in one place before they got bored. For Harry, that amount of time was halved. He really _didn't_ have any patience. Fidgeting tiredly on the bed, Harry forced himself up into a sitting position, hands splayed behind himself for support as he stared around himself with more interest then he would usually have shown for the room in the hopsital wing.

Besides the fact that all the items here were based on technology, rather than magic, there really weren't that many differences between this room, and one of the many private rooms in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. _Hogwarts ..._ Closing his eyes briefly, Harry forced himself to focus his attention on the television, quickly finding a remote on his bedside table, and clicking the telly on. While all he could find of interest was the news, it was better than just sitting there with nothing to do.

James watched his son from the open doorway, where Harry had fallen asleep while watching the telly. He really did look like an angel, with his black hair tousled and in disarray. His eyes were closed in sleep, but James knew from memories that those eyes were bright and lively, a shade of green not usually found in nature. He had gotten that from his mother.

Lily had stayed at home today -- claiming that she needed the rest. He knew better, though. He knew that she was getting the house ready, fixing up Harry's old bedroom to be more fitted for a teenager. It hadn't been changed since he had first been hospitilized, back when he was 10 years old. Over 5 years had passed since then, and he certaintly wasn't still interested in the same things.

If he was interested in anything. Certaintly, he didn't seem to know who they were, so it stood to reason that he had memories of his life at all. The doctor said it wasn't that surprising, not with the amount of time Harry had spent in his coma. They'd be lucky if he didn't have further brain damage.

Brain damage ... just the thought was enough to give him nightmares, no matter the reality. Harry had always been so bright -- top of his class, when he applied himself. Which, he was sorry to say, wasn't very often. Harry was usually too interested in sports and games most of the time to pay attention to his classes.

Except math, for some reason. The kid had always loved the class. He couldn't understand it -- he had certaintly never been a math wiz, and neither had Lily. But if it kept Harry interested in school, then he was thankful. Hell, Harry might not even _like_ math anymore -- they didn't know how much he had changed, how much he had been aware of while in his coma. He didn't know this young man anymore -- and it scared him, that his son was suddenly such a stranger.

But what had he been expecting? For Harry to wake up and instantly be the same young man from years ago? For him to wake up and think that no time at all had passed? Time had passed, and he had to keep reminding himself of that. Keeping as quiet as possible, James took a seat next to his son's bed, refraining from reaching out and touching his son's head by sheer force of will. He looked too much like an angel like this -- why disturb him? So he simply sat there, watching his son like a hawk. There was nothing else he could do.

When Harry woke up again, the television had turned off, and the sun was going down. He still felt weak and sluggish, but at least he was more alert this time -- he felt more like himself, at the very least. Groaning softly and stretching his arms out, he suddenly stiffened, arms raised high above his head at the sound of a soft chuckle. "You still manage to contort your body into the strangest positions, don't you, Harry?"

Rolling over onto his side, he stared at the man sitting beside his bed, tousled black hair falling over soft brown eyes shielded by round glasses. James stared back at him with a smile, eyes suspisciously bright. "How are you feeling?" James couldn't help it -- his breath hitched, and a single tear slid out from his eye, as he stared at his son. How long had he imagined this, imagined his son actually moving, talking, reacting? How long had this been a dream of his? For far too long.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked angrily, hands clenching into fists as he stared at the man, lips pressed into a thin line. James frowned at that, eyes turning serious as he watched his son's movements. "Language, Harry. And I'm James Potter ... I'm your father. Do you really not remember me?"

Now Harry was really glaring, and a small sound of annoyance escaped his throat as he edged away from his visitor. "My father is dead. He died when I was a baby, dumbass." He probably shouldn't have resorted to calling the man names, but he couldn't help it. How the _hell_ could they expect him to believe that this man was his _father_!

"Harry! I don't wnat you using that kind of language. I don't know who told you that I was dead, _but it's not true_. And it certaintly isn't possible for me to have died when you were a baby -- you lived with us until you were 10. Don't you remember?" He wasn't handling this very well -- James knew that. But he just didn't now what _do_, what to _say_. Harry wasn't making any _sense_. He seemed to recognise the name James Potter ... but what in the world would make him think his parent's were dead?

Sighing in frustration, James leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his messy black hair, making it stand up even more wildly, chocolate brown eyes fixed on his irate son, who stared right back at him, not backing down an inch. Oh yeah, this was definately Harry. Little hellion of a spitfire, refusing to back down an inch. God, how he'd missed this kid.

After a few more moments of stony silence, a polite cough interrupted their staring match, and both Harry and James glanced up guiltily at Dr. Lightner, who stood in the doorway, a stange smile twisting his lips. "As .. riveting as watching the two of you is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal you for a moment, Mr. Potter." James nodded solemnly, all traces of amusement gone from his face as he stood to follow the doctor, glancing back at his son one final time before closing the door behind him.

The walk to the doctor's office was spent in comfortable silence, as James attempted to collect his thoughts, and move them into some semblance of order. Collapsing heavily in to a plush chair, James rubbed tiredly at his face, before focusing on the doctor. They may have had their dissagreements in the past, but James trusted him to do what had to be done, to help make Harry better. "James, you need to get some _sleep_. I'm saying this as your doctor, and as you're _friend_. You're not going to be of any help to Harry if you're dead on your feet."

It wasn't that he didn't agree with the other man -- logically, what he said made sense. But how was he supposed to get any sleep, when Harry could lose consciousness once again? It was like trying to _make_ himself having a heart failure -- it just wasn't physically possible!

"James, there are some things I have been keeping from you. You and Lily already have a lot on your plate, and Lily agreed that you didn't need to know about this. WIth Harry waking up, though, it changes _everything_. So if you're feeling up to it, I think there are some things you need to know." James stared at the doctor for a few tense moments, jaw clenched in anger. Lily ... Lily had lied to him? Had the _doctor_ lie to him? Why?

After a few more tense moment, James nodded, and Dr. Lightner gave a relieved sigh. "Alright. Let's get started, then."

"Around Harry's 11th birthday, he began talking. The first time it happened, we thought he had actually woken up, and called you right away. Lily answered, and she dropped everything to come and see him. But, unfortunately, she came for nothing. Harry didn't wake up, as I'm sure you can surmise. He was mumbling, speaking under his breath, as if there was somebody else there, inside his head, whom only he could see. We were able to catch a name, _Hagrid_. This was the first time we became privy to Harry's World.

Harry has created an entirely new universe, inside his head, where he has lived. This world revolved around him being "different", being a _wizard_. In Harry's world, magic is commonplace among certain people -- those who can't use it are called _muggles_, and the truth of magic is kept from them. The reasons behind this are sketchy at best, but you must understand that this is a child's imagination, not an adult's reasoning. When Harry was a baby, he believes that his parent's were killed by a dark wizard known as Voldemort, who gave him the scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightening bolt. He goes to a school known as Hogwarts, where they teach children how to control and harnass their powers. It is based somewhere in Scotland, but even Harry doesn't know exactly where -- he has only arrived there by train, and by a flying car once before.

I overheard what Harry said to you earlier, and the only conclusion I can come to, is that Harry's memories of his real life have been dwarfed by those of his imaginary world -- he remembers nothing of his life here, but rather of the one he believes he led _there_. A world where he is either hated, and hunted by those who would like to kill him, or revered as some kind of god for having somehow defeated the wizard who killed his parents when he was a baby. I'm actually not very clear on that part -- we only hear what Harry says, not what others say _to_ him."

James leaned back in his chair, his mind swirling with all the information he had just been presented with. Honestly, he could understand why Lily wouldn't want him to know -- none of the information had been at all useful, but ..."

"Do you know why he has been so silent, these last couple of months? Does it have something to do with all this?" He waved his hand, to take in everything he had just learned.

"Yes. We believe, from what he has said while he is like this, that he has been attempting to actually enact some of what he is doing in his dreams. If he is in pain in this imaginary world of his, he reacts as if that pain were real." Lightner explained, inwardly grateful that James was taking this so well.

James nodded, shifting restlessly in his chair, eyes flicking back to his son's room.

"We're going to need to keep him here for observation for another couple of days -- there's no telling if he'll have a relapse, or what other side effects might kick in. If everything goes good, though, you should be able to take him home in a week, two tops." James couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at those words, rewarding the doctor with an affectionate gaze before standing from his chair.

"Yes, go. Go be with your son. I've still got some paperwork to finish."

James smirked at that, eyeing the piles ... no, mounds of paperwork that littered the doctor's usually immaculate desk. God, he was happy he wasn't a doctor.

Harry was idly flipping through channels on the televison when James got back -- and the nearly maniacle grin on his face made Harry pause, tossing the controller to the side as he watched the man carefully, certain that at any moment a particularly nasty curse would be thrown his way.

However, James simply retook his previous seat at the bedside, leaning back and stretching. When he resettled his body, he smiled gently at his son, slouching comfortably in his chair. "The doc said you can come home in a week, as long as you don't have a relapse, god forbid. But I was wondering, is there anything you would like? You know, for something to do. It gets pretty boring in here -- trust me, I know." Here James winced, eyes distant as he remembered his own stays in the hospital when he was younger -- and one not so long ago.

Lily had claimed he had done it just so he was closer to Harry. He had to admit, she might have been partially right. He had gotten to visit the kid more often. But purposefully falling nearly two stories from the roof of a house? Even _he_ wasn't that insane. Well, maybe.

Harry shifted in the bed, brow furrowed in confusion. (_Why_ was he so friggin' restless!) He opened and closed his mouth several times, before finally just fixing the man with a confused stare, only to jump in surprise when James laid a hand on his arm. "Harry, calm down. The doctor said you can't move around too much, or your muscles could cramp up again. Remember what happened when you tried to sit up earlier? That could happen again." Harry nodded, swallowing nervously as he kept his eyes glued to his lap, picking idly at the blanket, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world at the moment.

"I'm sure your mother will have a whole box full of things ready to bring you, but she's not too good for shopping for guys -- knowing her there might be a barbie doll in there, heaven forbid." That earned him a small smile from his son, and James returned it with a relieved one of his own. A small reaction, at least. "How about some books? Do you like to read? I'm sure we could scrounge up a gameboy, or something like that, if you think you might like some games."

He knew he was rambling. He knew it, and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself. He didn't know what to say -- it had been so much easier when Harry was younger, and when he knew what the boy liked, what he enjoyed. "I guess some books wouldn't be so bad." Harry finally ventured, after a few more moments of silence had passed, and James grinned, although inwardly he was groaning. Great. Lily had somehow managed to give him her love of books, even without being there.

Where was his sports-loving son!


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter two, and, as always, I want to give a hug eshout out to my beta, who did a wonderful job fixing this up for me. I love the comments you leave, hun :)**

Harry Potter was having one of the weirdest days of his life. First, he woke up in some strange hospital, found out that his parents were somehow alive -- or some wacko's had decided they wanted to play dress up and pretend to be his parents. Then, he was drugged, woke up days later, with the crazies still there, and was told he'd be sent home in a week. And to top it all off, they actually acted like parents -- like how the Weasley's acted with their own children. They looked concerned, asked if he was alright, and even went so far as to offer to bring him anything he wanted, so he wouldn't get too bored.

This was not how a kidnapping was supposed to work. Where were the threats, the pain, the torture? Where were the Death Eater masks leering down at him like the most gruesome nightmares of his childhood? Hell, where was the magic? Everything around him was so mundane and muggle, that it was almost hard for him to grasp. No castles, no finery, no robes or wands. Just people. Normal, everyday, muggle people, acting as if they had known him all his life.

But they hadn't! They hadn't known him all his life, because he certainly hadn't been here, in this hospital, for more than a couple of days. But no, that wasn't what they were claiming. They were claiming he had been here for _years_, and that everything he thought he had experienced, everything he remembered doing, was nothing more than a hallucination. Did they really think he was that insane!

But ... then again, how could he explain the television? The fact that he was someplace where he could watch the telly was surprising in and of itself, but according to the television, or more correctly the news, his entire view of the muggle world was wrong, and he was pretty sure that was impossible. He had lived with his muggle relatives every summer, and for his entire life before that. He did have _some_ knowledge of the world his relatives lived in. Or, at least, he had thought he did.

There were wars going on he hadn't even known about, in countries he'd never even heard of. The Minister of Magic's name was wrong, as well, even though he could distinctly remember hearing his name spoken over the summer, on one of those rare occasions that he'd actually been allowed to watch the news with the rest of the Dursley family. And what sane wizard or witch would come up with a spell to change what a person saw on the news, anyway? It didn't make any sense!

Too many things were adding up in the wrong direction -- in the direction of these people really being his parents, of what they were telling him turning out to actually be true. And he didn't like it.

----

----

James was back at the hospital the next day, a shopping bag full of books in his arms as he headed to his son's room. He had already stopped by the doctor's office for a quick chat, and was feeling high as a kite, as the saying went. His day at work had seemed to fly by, although he had gotten quite a few odd looks from his coworkers for being ... overly perky. He wouldn't be surprised if his boss got complaints about him, pretty soon. He really had been disgustingly chirpy.

But now, the end of the day was here, and he couldn't be happier. He was going to see his son, and he was intent on making this day even better than the last. If only Harry would cooperate a bit more... But he couldn't think about that. He had to keep focused on the good, or the bad could very well break him in two. Keeping strong for a boy in a coma was different from a boy alive and talking and kicking, and most definitely angry. But he wouldn't change things -- wouldn't go back to the _easier_ way of things, for all the money in the world.

But he couldn't help but worry. Worry about the repercussions of Harry's "world" that he had lived in for so long, and worry about Harry's reaction to his relatives. It would only be a matter of time before they came beating down on the door, demanding to see the boy, after going so long believing he would never wake up. Really, he and Lily had been the only ones to hold out hope. They'd been the only ones to believe. Squaring his shoulders, James walked in to the hospital room.

Harry had been passing the time by flipping through the television channels, before finally settling on a cartoon channel. If he was going to be cooped up all day like this, he might as well get some form of enjoyment out of it. It had been a while since he'd been allowed to watch cartoons at the Dursley house, and the animation had certainly gotten better in that time, so he found himself glued to the telly, unable to take his eyes off it -- even if the storyline _was_ a bit young. He'd forgotten just how addicting a program on the telly could be.

James stood in the door watching his son for a few moments, a small smile curling his lips. He could remember watching his son react in this same exact way to cartoons when he was younger, getting sucked right into the television as if it were the only thing in the world. It hadn't happened very often, mind you. Harry had always preferred to be outside, in the fresh air, rather than cooped up inside. Sometimes, though (usually on a rainy, icky day), he could be found curled up in the living room, lying bonelessly on the carpeted floor in front of the television.

Clearing his throat, James walked in to the room, steadfastly ignoring his son's cold glare as he set the books on a bureau that took up on whole side of the room, with a small sink worked in to it. "I brought some books by. I hope you like science fiction." James sent his son a grin, filling a nearby plastic cup with water before walking over to what was quickly becoming his usual chair, leaning back with a sigh. God, his back hurt.

Harry's eyes flicked from his so-called father to the pile of books, worrying on his lower lip. Seeing his look, James' lips quirked in to a small half-smile, forcing himself to his feet and back over the books, before returning to his son's bedside and setting them on an empty spot on the bed. "Let's see what we have here, shall we?"

Harry's lips quirked slightly at that, unable to keep a serious expression for long. Not with somebody so intent on getting a positive reaction from him, so intent on making him smile.

Eyes brightening at the sight of that involuntary smile, James set about his task with a renewed vigor, all thoughts of sleep wiped from his mind.

As Harry listened to this man ... what was he supposed to call him? If there was even the slightest chance that he could really be James Potter ... that everything they were telling him was true ... if there was even the smallest chance, he didn't want to screw things up, didn't want to hurt them, or make them angry with him, when he had finally found the family he'd always been wanting.

And as he was listening to this man, he couldn't help but let his mind wander, thinking back over the last two days. The doctor had come in a couple of times while ... James ... was gone, but he hadn't learned much beyond the bare basics, and his attitude probably hadn't helped matters much. He should have at least been polite -- if there was one thing that his life with the Dursley's had taught him, it was how to be unfailingly polite, under all circumstances. Even when people were acting their worst to him, he had always taken the time to say "sir" ma'am" and the like. It had been drilled into his head too thoroughly for anything else.

With this doctor, though, all those years of good manners had gone straight out the window, and he had seemed unable to keep his snide comments and anger to himself, letting loose the first thing that came to his mind, and only feeling bad about it once the man had left.

They said that he was in the hospital, the same one he'd been in since he was ten years old. That he had been in a coma for the past couple of years, that everything he had experienced, everyone he had known, had all just been a figment of his imagination. He'd yelled at them, a lot. Screamed that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true, and that they were lying. They'd had to sedate him.

He really didn't want to go through that again -- the hospital orderlies holding him down, as the nurse injected him with something, in the muggle way. No spells, no potions, just plain old muggle medicine, delivered in the most basic way -- straight in to his blood stream.

That was, perhaps, the most prominent reason why he was now listening, now willing to give this man, and any who came with him, the time of day. No spells. No wands. NO mention of anything even remotely magical. Why? He wanted to know ... he _had_ to know. He had to know, for sure, that this wasn't just some crazy dream, some crazy plan of Voldemort to catch him off guard.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was the dream of every orphan, to find his parents alive and ready to take care him, with the perfect excuse for why they hadn't been there before. Maybe he was just dreaming, but he couldn't let go of that dream.

Not yet.

James watched his son, words trailing off into nothingness as he realized that the boy wasn't even listening to him. Harry seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, mind wandering away from the reality of the here and now. As he watched that distant look enter into his son's eyes, James' own eyes narrowed, lips thinning in anger, before he reached over and grasped his son's shoulders, giving him a rough shake.

Harry came out of his doze with a gasp, staring at James with wide eyes, lips parted as he breathed fast and hard. His surprise, however, quickly turned to anger. "What are you on about?" He asked angrily, shifting away from the man on the bed, as far as he could get without actually falling off.

"Don't do that. You looked .. you looked like before. When you were in the coma. You looked like that again." James finished lamely, blushing slightly as he stumbled for words. It wasn't that he was usually particularly eloquent, but that was bad for even _him_.

Harry leaned back against the headboard, brow furrowed as he watched the man uncertainly. So what was he supposed to do, never think? Always be talking or doing something? Every person needed a little bit of time in their own head! He didn't realize that he'd said all that out loud until James smiled ruefully, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair. "I know, and I shouldn't have reacted like that. I still need some time to adjust to you being here, I guess. Do you want to read any of these?"

Finally noticing the pile of books strewn across the bed, Harry bit down on his lip, eyes skimming over the titles, before shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the one by Tolkien, _The Return of the King_.

James reached over, plucking the book from his son's hand and replacing it with another by the same author, however, _The Hobbit_. "This is the first in the same series ... probably best to start at the beginning versus the end, don't you think?" He grinned at his son, who smiled sheepishly in return.

----

----

Lily Potter remembered vividly the day that James had introduced her to baby Harry. Only two months old, it had happened when she was visiting her boyfriend by surprise. Apparently, she had come on his son's two-month birthday party, and had instantly realized that Harry Potter was spoiled rotten.

Contrary to popular belief, Lily was not the actual birth mother of Harry Potter. She wished she was, wished with all her might that that little boy was her own. But she had raised him, had tried to hard to fill the void that his mother had left behind, when she had left. It was her deepest fear that his mother would return one day, would ask to see him, to talk to him. That Harry would wake up to the sound of another woman's voice, would call her "mother". Would take that spot in his heart that had always been hers.

Harry had never known, never even guessed, that she wasn't technically his mother, and neither had anybody else. They'd moved before Harry turned two, to a new town, a new life, void of all the painful memories that had haunted James' old house. Memories of HER. And what really cinched it, was the eyes. They both had the same brilliant green eyes, eyes that seemed to almost glow in the right light. She'd gotten teased about those eyes a lot as a child, but on Harry, they were beautiful. Never once had any of his schoolmates said anything about them, except for the one time that a girl at his school had told him they were beautiful -- and proceeded to kiss him on the cheek.

You'd think it was the end of the world, they way he'd ranted on and on about "girl germs" when he'd gotten home. Apparently the shock had taken that long to wear off. Everybody in town always commented on how he had her eyes, and she never corrected them. James preferred it that way -- that people see Harry as THEIRS, not just his. That Harry believe his parents loved him, that BOTH his parents wanted him. And after the accident ... he'd needed her. Needed her to be there for Harry, for him. As if she'd ever say no.

Sometimes, in the dark of the night when the pain was almost too hard to bear, when James had finally cried himself to sleep like so many nights before, she'd wonder why she put herself through all this. Why she stayed, when she really had no obligation to care for a boy who really wasn't her flesh and blood. She'd let the bitterness take her over then, let herself hate the two men in her life. She'd blame James, blame Harry, for everything, for every hurt that pounded away at her heart. She'd wish that she had never met James, had never married him, had never become a wife and mother.

But the morning would come, and she'd look at the pictures strewn around the house, peak in on Harry's room untouched from the way he had left it. And the ache would subside just a little bit, the bitterness disappear like a cloud of smoke. How could she hate them? How could she blame them?

But his room wasn't untouched anymore, was it? She'd gone into a frenzy of cleaning, packing away his old clothes and laying down fresh linens, wrinkling her nose at the state of his old bed sheets and blanket. They really were filthy, after so many years remaining untouched. And they smelled like her grandmother's old sock drawer.

By the end of the day, all of his old toy's had been removed, his bed-remade and scrubbed down with the strongest cleaning supplies she cold find, and some of her books lined the shelves, along with some art and writing supplies. She didn't know if he enjoyed doing either of those things, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. She couldn't stop working, couldn't let herself think about everything that had happened, or she'd lose it. Lily was worried, that if she let herself start crying, that she'd never stop.

----

----

Harry was halfway through the first chapter of his book when dinner came. James had left a couple of hours before, promising that he'd be back the next day. His wife would be coming, as well. Lily. Who he insisted on calling "your mum."

She wasn't his mother. His mother was dead, and so was his father. But something held him back from saying it -- maybe the look of pleading in the man's eyes, in the way he looked imploringly at Harry. Pleading for him not to shatter this good day they'd had together

And all in all, it had been a good day. As long as he didn't try to move too much, he felt relatively good. A little weak, and a little annoyed at the numerous IVs sticking into his hands and arms, but overall, he felt better than he had in a while. Not that the hospital food had anything to do with that. It really was vile. But it was food, and he was always grateful for that, especially after a summer with the Dursley's.

Picking idly at the remainder of his food, Harry slumped down further in the bed, eyes drifting up to stare at the ceiling as he brought a single piece of carrot up to his lips, munching thoughtfully. He kept wondering when he was going to wake up, but he never did. He kept wishing that he would hear Dumbledore's voice, or even Snape's. Anybody he knew. But he never heard that, either. Every time he opened his eyes, it was to this room, these people he didn't know and didn't want to get to know.

Reaching over blindly for his book, Harry continued to munch on random vegetables from his food tray as he forced himself to become immersed in a land of fantasy once again.

It was the only land he understood, anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

There was once a boy – more of a man, really – who saw purple people. The people weren't really there, not according to the rest of the world. But the man saw them, and to him they were real. As I'm sure you can imagine, he was hospitalized, sent off to what some people affectionately call the "loony bin". He was let out some time later, after he had told his doctors he no longer saw the purple people. In reality, he still saw them everywhere he went …. He just told the people he didn't.

Sitting in his hospital room, curled up on his side, Harry was tempted to follow that man's example. He was tempted to claim that he believed them, that he understood the Hogwarts had just been a dream, and that he understood that now.

But he couldn't do that to his friends, even if it was just to get out of this damned place.

It wasn't even that bad, sitting here day after day like this. A bit boring, true, but James kept stopping by with more things for him to do, more books for him to read. And there was the telly, of course.

He stayed away from the news programs, now, sure that they had somehow been charmed so that he wouldn't know anything that was _really_ going on out there in the world. He wasn't kept _that_ isolated from the rest of the world, even when he was at Hogwarts. Not with Hermione getting the muggle post every day at school.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Harry heaved a great sigh before letting his eyes fall closed. A nap sounded wonderful.

-----

James watched from the doorway as Harry slipped into a fitful sleep, a small smile playing across his lips.

As weird as it was, he was almost happy to see his son having a nightmare. It sounded sadistic, but he truly didn't mean it that way. He wanted Harry to be happy, wanted it more than anything in the world. But Harry hadn't had a nightmare in the past half-decade, and to watch him experiencing something so … normal … was almost more than he could have asked for.

Dr. Lightner was astounded by the amount of progress they were experiencing with Harry. He'd expected at least one relapse in the first couple of days, and had expected to run into several problems by now. But they hadn't. Everything was almost _too_ perfect.

They'd be able to bring Harry home soon, and he knew Lily was going out of her mind. She was happy, he was happy. They were both extrememly happy with the way things were turning out. But she was stressed at the same time, trying to makethe house ready for a teenage son that they still didn'tquite knowhow to act around.

He'd sent a letter off to his ex-wife, appraising her of her son's condition. Lily had been hesitant to let him send it, but they had both understood that they couldn't leave her out of the loop like this. She deserved to be a part of Harry's life, whether he knew her as his mother or not. They'd need to have a conversation with him about that, soon. Just having her show up out of the blue like that just wouldn't do.

Setting his soda to the side, James sat as quietly as he could next to his son, brushing a few strands of wayward black hair out of his eyes.

Sirius wouldn't be coming by the hospital. They'd agreed that it would be best if Harry got to know his parents first, without adding a godfather to the mix. Not to mention that he had his hands full with Remus.

Remus' cancer had reared it's ugly head, and he'd been in the hospital himself until only just recently. Not this hospital, of course, but one of the special treatment centers that Sirius somehow always found the money to send him to. James still wasn't sure how the other man was always able to do that.

He needed to visit Remus soon. The other man needed something to take his mind off his own problems, and as wonderful as Sirius was, James was sure that Remus was getting sick of him by this point. How they could live in such close quarters without going after each other's throats was beyond his capability to understand. Even Lily, the brainiac that she was, had a hard time with that one. They acted more like an old married couple, then two single men sharing a rundown apartment.

Leaning back in his chair with a small sigh, James closed his eyes as he allowed himself to finially take a short rest, after a rather hectic day. Telling Sirius about Harry had been … exhausting.

**--earlier that day—**

"He's _AWAKE_!" James winced at the volume his friend's voice had risen to, resisting the urge to rub at his ears. He was thankful that he'd closed the door to his office, now, giving them some sense of privacy for this meeting.

But not enough, apparently. James glared at the onlookers through his window, before striding over and quickly yanking the curtains closed.

Most of his co-workers knew about his son's condition, and while he knew that they would congradulate him on his Harry's good fortune and continued health, he just wasn't ready to share this with the world at large. It had been hard enough telling Sirius, letting go of that special feeling of privacy that he had been experiencing from being one of the only people who knew of Harry's change in condition.

"Siri, could you keep it down? And yes, Harry woke up. The doctors are ….. well, they're hoping for the best." He didn't want to jinx this, didn't want to say something that could somehow change the luck they had been experiencing lately.

"Hoping for the best? James, this is wonderful! Did they move him? Well, the must have moved him if he's awake – those rooms are damned expensive, and you and Lily couldn't afford to keep him in there if he doesn't absolutely need it. I mean, can he move around? Can he talk? _Will_ he talk? Does he remember you? Does he remember _me_, or Remus, or Lily, or …"

"Sirius!" James fought to keep his voice under control, taking a deep breath before opening eyes –_when had he closed them?_ – and focusing his gaze on his best friend. "He's awake, yes. He's talking, and no, he doesn't remember us. At least, not in that way. He doesn't remember anything except this damned fantasy world he's created inside his head. Apparently, it's better than the real world Lily and I tried to give to him." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his, now, as he voiced his hidden thoughts. Somehow, he always seemed able to say things to Sirius that he would never dare voice aloud, otherwise.

"James …." Sirius' voice was soft now, as he watched his best friend sadly.

James merely glared heatedly at his friend, before collapsing bonelessly onto the sofa that was set beside the door to his office. Making his clients comfortable was important, after all. "I just .. I need some time with him, Siri, before you meets you and Remy. I need some time to get to know him again, you know? Besides, I'm sure Remus needs you around pretty bad right now. How's that new nurse working out?"

"Pretty good – she's pretty, so Remus doesn't seem to mind quite so much. And she's nice." James smiled at that, knowing that she wouldn't last long if she wasn't at least a little bit attractive. And it wasn't because of Sirius, either.

Not many people would hav expected it, but Remus did put alot ofstock in outward appearance. He liked beautiful things, and that didn't just stop at material things – he detested unkept people, and demanded that anybody he was seen with take proper care of themselves.

He and Sirius got in a lot of arguments about keeping their house clean, and that was the main reason for the new nurse. She not only took care of Remus' medicines and physical therapy, but also helped out around the house, and cooked and cleaned for them. It wasn't a normal part of the job, but they paid her well above the norm.

James leaned back in his seat, smiling as his friend began talking about everything he could find wrong with this new nurse. There was always plenty to be found, and James knew from experience that he would end up driving her away, with his constant demands of perfection where Remus was concerned. It always happened, and really, he wouldn't be Sirius if he wasn't overprotective of the man he truly considered to be his "brother".

James opened his ey es some time later to a hand gently shaking him awake, and was instantly awake as he stared into his son's amused green orbs. "They're serving dinner … shouldn't you be leaving?"

It had taken him nearly a whole ten minutes tow ork up the courage to stand up, let alone wake the older man up, and now Harry wasn't sure if that had been the brightest idea, if the look on James' face was anything to go by.

"Harry James Potter! Do you want to have another relapse! Get back into bed!" It wasn't often that James yelled, but when he did, he did so with his whole heart.

Harry jerked back, stumbling a little bit until he fell heavily against the hospital bed, eyes widening a little at the vehemence of the man's reaction.

James instantly regretted his hasty words, slowly standing to his feet and laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Come on, get back in bed." He said softly, beginning to draw back the covers and help the boy into bed.

"No thank-you, sir. I …. I think that I've had enough rest." Harry said uneasily, vividly remembering the last time he had attempted to disobey his uncle to his face. It …. Hadn't been pretty.

James merely smiled, reaching up to run his fingers through his son's jet black hair. "I know, Harry. I know how much you hate being cooped up. But the doctors said you could get even worse if you try and move around too much."

"I wouldn't think that taking him for a ride in a wheelchair would be too bad, though." James looked up surprise at Dr. Lightner, standing in the doorway with a clipboard in hand. "I was just passing by and couldn't help but overhear. What do you think of having dinner down in the cafeteria, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly, chancing a look at James uncertaintly, but was surprised to find that the older man had a smile on his face. "I think that's a wonderful idea, doctor."

"I'll send a nurse to get that wheelchair for you. Why don't you put a robe on, Harry? The cafeteria tends to be a bit chilly." Harry nodded, waiting until the doctor had left the room before pushing away from the bed uncertaintly, still unsteady on his feet.

"Come on, I think your mum brought over some of my old clothes for you. We haven't been able to get shopping yet, and I think she wants you there to try on the stuff, anyway." James started over toward the closet, a small smile playing across his lips.

Harry, however, could already feel the bile and distaste rising to his throat, his lips twisting into a mutated form of a frown. He had no right to call that …. That _woman _Harry's mum.

When James turned back around, all he could do was sigh softly at the look on his son's face, his smile twisting as he raised an eyebrow at the teenager. "Come on, let's get you ready." He said softly, the previous excitement now gone from his voice.

Harry merely shrugged, accepting the overly large robe with a small sigh, slipping it on and clasping it tightly around himself before sitting back down on the bed, with a wince.

James watched his son for a moment longer, before moving to lean against the doorframe, watching for the nurse.

It actually took her almost 10 minutes to get to them, not that he'd been expecting anything better. Hospitals were notorious for making people wait. Harry said nothing as the nurse helped him into the wheelchair, although e did shy away from her touch.

That made James' lips thin in anger, and he quickly turned away, lest Harry see the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, and interpret it the wrong way.

They made the trip down to the cafeteria in silence, Harry fidgeting with his robe nervously and steadfastly refusing to look at anybody they passed, even as they called out greeting to him as if they knew him.

There was no magic here. Just like in his private room, everything was sterile and muggle, and silent save for the occasional chatter of a nurse or doctor passing by. No wands, no potions, just good 'ole muggle technology.

Technology that seemed a fair bit more advanced then he was used to. He should have _recognized_ some of these things! But the telivisions were bigger, their picture clearer than he had ever seen them. And Uncle Vernon hadn't been stingy with that sort of stuff – they'd always had the best, even if he hadn't been allowed to use it most of the time.

And the programs on television … they were different, as well. There was a war, in the muggle world. And even the dates they gave were wrong – according to these programs, it was 2006, not 1997. Nearly a 10 year difference.

But if he stopped to think about it rationally, it did make a sort of sense. If somebody was going to trap themselves away inside of their own mind, they would do so in a timeframe that they felt safe in, wouldn't they? They wouldn't try and make up an entirely new timeline, wouldn't try and keep up with what was really happening in the world. Some things that their real body heard or felt would transfer through to the imaginary world within one's head, but …. For the most part, it would stay around what had already happened. By picturing himself in the past, everything that was harsh and cold about this time would be eliminated.

But that was only when he thought about it objectively, like a bystander. When he let himself fantasize about how nice it would be if this were true – if his pa rents really were alive.

But they weren't, so he had to stop doing this to himself. He was only going to end up getting hurt.

James stared down at his son's slumped shoulders, taking in the way he steadfastly ignore everyone and everything around him. Almost as if he were scared.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he stared ahead mutely, not noticing his son's raised head and furrowed brow, as Harry stared up at his wet eyes, the tell tale sign of tears on his cheeks.

Harry pursed his lips togeather, glancing back down at his lap. He hated this. Hated how this damn _man_ kept acting so much like a father should. He was a good actor, nothing more.

He couldn't let him be anything more.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hmm... my beta seems to have dissappeared off the face of the multiverse. If anybody is interested in taking her place, let me know :)- New chapter finially -- although it is quite short. I have so many stories going right now, at times I barely even know where to begin. So, sorry for the long wait :D I'll be on vacation in a month's time, all summer long, so hopefully I'll get some major writing time in there. I have this silly idea taking root in my prain that has to do with Jack Sparrow (pirates of the caribean) and his untold past... So perhaps a new story will come out with that. Meh. Ignore me. But feed me! Feed the author with reviews so she can update faster! Otherwise she shall starve and continue speaking of herself in the third person :D Until the next update. **toodles**._

Harry picked listlessly at his food, poking at his chocolate pudding with a slight frown, his eyebrow raising slightly as it reacted more like jello than pudding, pushing up resistance against his spoon.

"I'm not sure this is exactly safe…." He murmured softly to himself, head tilted slightly to the side.

James couldn't help but smile as he watched his son, glancing down at his own meal with a hint of distaste colouring his features. He could completely understand his son's apprehension — it didn't look like the most appetizing thing in the world. "Maybe I could sneak you in something from home." He offered, watching as Harry's head snapped up, almost as if he had forgotten that James was there.Harry glanced back down at his plate, shrugging hia shoulders with a muttered "Sure." before finially scooping a bit of corn and beginning to eat.

James sighed softly — he was doing that a lot these days, wasn't he? — and focused on his own plate of food, shoulders slightly slumped.

They ate in silence now, each wrapped up in their own thoughts, until Harry started fidgeting nervously in his chair, and James glanced up to notice for the first time how tired his son looked, hands shaking slightly as he brought his cup to his lips for a drink."Come on, let's get you back to your room." He said, gathering togeather their plates to throw away.

Harry's shoulder's slumped even further at those words, but he offered no objection as James started wheeling him toward the door, depositing their plates along the way. He kept hold of his drink, however, enjoying the crisp taste of the soda trickling down his throat as they made their way back.

Their walk back through the hospital was quiet, the only sounds coming from the rooms they passed. Harry tried not to look too much at his surroundings, not to look at the pople who passed them in the hall, or the patients in their rooms.

None of this was real. None of these people were really the muggles that they claimed to be, that they appeared to be. It was all just another trick, just another ply of Voldemorts.

As they neared his hospital room, however, James slowed as he saw the two police officers standing outside his son's room, coming to a halt a few paces from Dr. Lightner.

Aaron turned at their approach, smiling sadly and shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "I couldn't stop her, James. She has every right to be here."

James' hands curled around the arm sof the wheelchair, tightening until his knuckles turned white as he watched his ex-wife step out of the hospital room, her green eyes snapping instantly to their son.

Harry turned to look at James over his shoulder, a strange look in his eyes. "What's going on?" He asked softly, raising a fine dark eyebrow. There was something familiar about this woman….

"Harry, why don't we get you in to bed?" He asked, starting to wheel his son in to the room. He left as soon as the nurses started to get him ready for bed, closing the door behind himself.

"""""

Maybe she had been wrong to leave James, to leave **Harry**. Maybe she should have stayed in contact, at least, and been a part of Harry's life. There were a lot of maybe's in her life.

But after hearing about Harry's accident …. after hearing that her son might never wake from his coma …. it had been too hard. She just couldn't fathom being in that house, being near that man, without her son there.

And Harry hadn't even recognised her. Why should he? He had grown up with _that_ woman, that red-haired witch, all his life. He had no reason to feel any connection to her.

At least his relationship with his father seemed strained — that gave her some comfort, at least, for the cold reaction she had gotten from the boy.

"""""

James leaned against the close door to his son's hospital room, closing his eyes for a brief second before opening them and turning to stare at his ex-wife. "What are you doing here?" He asked shortly, eyes narrowing as he stared at the pale-haired woman before him.

"I wanted to see my son, James. That's all." She looked past him now, as if she could see inside the room through the heavy door. "The doctor … he said that Harry has a … world? A world he created inside his head? That he doesn't remember us? Not even you."

James clenched his teeth against the anger rising up in him, blinking back the tears that threatened to overspill. "That's right. Lily is hoping that some of his old posessions might stir his memories, though. Maybe seeing more people that he used to know would help, as well."

She nodded now, a faraway look coming in to her eyes as she continued to stare at the door seperating her from her son. "I was thinking of bringing his brother by to see him. You know that Luc and I … we had a son."

James let out a sharp laugh at that, glancing away from his ex-wife, finially, to stare at a potted plant resting nearby. "Yes, I heard. Sirius told me. Apparently you sent him _pictures_. He was less than pleased." He sneered, shifting his eyes back to the pale haired vision before him.

He couldn't believe he had actually been swayed by her beauty, once. That she had actually won him over with her pretty looks and fancy words. It was inconcievable, now. It was ludicrous, when he thought back, how much he had missed. How much he had let slide.

"You have every right to be angry with me, James. But you do **not** have the right to hide Harry from me. He is _my_ son." She turned on her heel now, storming down the hallways in a fit of anger. And James couldn't help but sigh in relief, sagging against the door.

"You'll never change, will you Narcissa?"


	5. Chapter 5

It's All a Dream, Chapter 4

By Allison Costa (chicadoodle)

Harry Potter Fanfiction

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I know, I know, such a long wait, and for this? I have quite a bit more written, but I need that to be it's own chapter, because of all the plot information that's going to be coming out. Enjoy!

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Harry leaned back in his hospital bed with a heartfelt sigh, watching as the nurse took some of the blood from the IV in his arm. James sat slumped in a chair next to his bed, watching Harry with a worried frown.

"Who was that?" harry asked, head tilted toward the older man, eyes already heavy and drooping.

James merely smiled sadly, running his fingers through his son's tousled hair.

When he didn't respond, Harry merely frowned, sinking l ower in to the bed and idly fiddling with the IV in his arm.

"Come on, don't play with that." James commanded softly, brushing his son's hand to the side. Harry merely sighed in frustration, shifting in the bed to become more comfortable.

Watching as his son turned his head away toward the window, James have a heartfelt sigh before returning to run his fingers through Harry's jet black hair.

--------------------

When Harry woke up again, he was alonein the hospital room, only a bedside lamp giving off anylight.

Moving carefully on his side, he stared out the window, at the tiny lights of cars on the nearby highway.

He wanted all of this to be true. He wanted James and Lily to be real, and alive. He wanted this hospital, these nice people to be real. He wanted it so badly, he could almost taste it.

But he was scared, too. Scared to hope, scared that he wouldn't survive that dissappointment. He'd never known his parents before, so there had never really been anything to miss. But now, to get to know them only to have them ripped away again? he couldn't survive that.

Blinking against the sudden wetness in his eyes, Harry drew in a shaky breath, before glancing sharply over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening quietly.

James stood there, a small smile on his lips as he watched his son, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"Why aren't you asleep?" James whispered, setting his coffee on the bedside table and easing in to his seat. He'd just called Lily, and let her know he'd be spending the night here. She was supposed to come by tomorrow, with a batch of Harry's favourite double-chocolate-chunk chocolate chip cookies.

Harry shifted back over on to his back, watching James with a blank expression. Just as James as about to ask what was wrong, however, Harry spoke up.

"Are you real? Th-this isn't some kind of sick joke, right? y-you aren't gon-gonna just dissappear, or leave me again, right?"

James breath caught in his throat, before he gathered him close, soothing the trembling boy. "I'm not going anywhere, buddy. And neither are you."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6! This is where things really start to pick up -- don't worry if you're confused, you shouldn't be able to understand how my wacky brain works :) Really, though, everything _will_ make sense eventually, just give me a couple more chapters :D

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Albus Dumbledore stood before the assembled Order Members, all twinkle now gone from his eyes as he listened to their reports.

He didn't want to say this, didn't want to break their happy mood, after the lull of Boldemort's attacks. He had just suddenly ... stopped. Nobody knew why.

Until now. Now, he thought he knew. Nay, he was sure of it.

Harry was missing. Gone. Without a trace. His magical signature could not be found, and any tracking spells he had attempted thus far had gone haywire.

Raising his hand fo rsilence, Albus Dumbledore looked around the room at his most trusted confidants, eyes lingering on Molly and Arthur Weasley as he smiled sadly.

"Harry Potter is missing." The effect was immediate -- Arthur was stunned, Molly was loud and hysterical, and Severus was amused. And Remus ... Remus was angry. Albus could see, even from here, the wolk lurking just beneath the surface, the golden glow that had entered in to his eyes.

"I have been unable to detect his magical signature -- Severus, I believe you know the potion I require? Good. Molly, he may be injured when we find him. I take it your house will be open for him?" At her energetic nod, Albus smiled birefly, inclining his own head. "Good. Everybody else, you know what to do. Spred out, ask questions, do whatever you have to do. Just find him. Remus, come iwth me."

Once safely barricaded away in his impromptu study, Albus turned to watch his former student, pacing back and forth throughout the room in long, angry strides. Lik a caged animal.

"Remus, please, sit down." When Remus grudgingly obeyed, Albus gave a small, but heartfelt sigh, settling gratefully in to his own seat.

"I need your help, Remus, and you can't offer that if you can't control yourself."

Remus took a deep breath, holding it for several deconds before releasing it and focusin gohis attention on the Headmaster. "What do you know so far?"

----------

It had been two day's since Harry's breakdown with James in the hospital room, an dstill shied away from Lily's touch, no matter how many cookies she tried to bribe him with.

He was nibbling on one right now, crumbs littering his chest and lap as he watched his ... parents ... talking quietly at the door. James was carrying a duffel bag, and Harry idly wondered if it had more book in it. Or maybe that 'Game Boy' his father had mentioned ...

Sitting up straighter in his bed, he watched as James came closer, a broat smile lighting up his face. Lily was smiling boradly, as well, standing close behind her husdband and watching Harry with a slight twinkle to her eyes.

James merely grinned wider at the quizzicle look Harry gave him -- and the bag -- however, choosing instead to move over to the bureau and star tstuffing clothes in to the bag.

Lily have a small laugh at that, shaking her head over her husdband's antics. "The doctors have released you, Harry. They're letting us take you home." Lily smiled at the way Harry's expression lit up at that, eyes widening in surprise as he glanced between the two of them.

His grin only got wider as the nurse wheeled in a wheelchair.

----------

Albus Dumbledore stared out the window of his Hogwarts office, idly twirling a quill around with his fingers.

Severus would be up soon, when the potion was finished. I twas almost done now, if he had done his math right.

But there was a part of him -- a large part, larger than he cared to admit, even to himself, that didn't want to potion to ever be finished. Because he was afraid of what the answer would be. Afraid that, for once, Harry was normal, and his lack of magical signature meant what it was supposed to.

Glancing up at th esound of somebody riding his moving staircase up, Albus smiled bitterly as he recognised Sever Snape's magical signature.

It was out of his hands now, then.

kSeverus stopped just outside the door, a small frown marring his otherwise emotionless face. He could already feel a small tingling in his arm -- not a true summoning, but a request. Take your time, it said. I'm in no great hurry.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors, Severus set the potion on the headmaster's desk with an unceremonious thump, stepping back and crossing his arms as he stared at the older man with a narrowed gaze.

"Thank-you Severus. That will be all." It was a clear dismissal, and Severus frowned, wondering if the folder manknew how much he'd sounded like the Dark Lord just then.

Lips twisting adn pressed tightly togeather intoa t hin line, Severus descended the staircase, pausing in the hallway to straighten his robes before heading for his private chambers. His Lord had called, and he knew better than to leave Voldemort waiting. Those that did generally had a very short life span.

----------

Harry watched as James loaded his few belongings in to the trunk of the car, fidgeting nervously in the wheelchair they'd made him sit in yet again.

Lily was already in the car, twisted around to watch as James fought to fit the few boxes in to the trunk of their tiny car. James finially sighed, slamming the hood of the trunk with a small smile, turning to his son. Harry coouldn't hep but smile back, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he shivered.

James frowned at that, quickly helping his son in to the seat -- more like carried him there, to be honest.

The last thing they needed was for Harry to catch cold -- his body was still weak, not used to being without the meds that had been constantly pumped in to his bloodstream.

He kept glancing back at his son as he drove, worrying his bottom lip as the dark-haired boy nodded off after only a couple of minutes.

"He'll be fine, James. He's just tired." Lily smiled at her husdband, laying a hand gnetly on his arm before facing forward. James reluctantly followed suit, but his ey es continued to click up to the rear-view mirror every couple of minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Okay, new chapter. And this time I didn't wait over 3 months before posting! It's a mircale, I swear. I'm finially truly getting in to this story, but unfortunately I have no beta for this story, so sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes I may have missed when proof-reading this story. Enjoy!**_

It is the intent that matters, not the spell.

Lord Voldemort, who had once been known as Tom Riddle in his younger days, smiled to himself as he watched Lucius Malfoy prostrate himself before his Lord, blonde hair dirty and matted from his stay in Azkaban.

He had been tempted to leave the blonde there, now that most of his power had been stripped away -- what use was an aristocrat who held no sway over the public? -- but Lucius had always been loyal to him, and he was hard pressed to lose that loyalty. Leave him for long enough, and Lucius may have found it in his wounded pride to turn over secrets to the Ministry. To Dumbledore, even.

Lucius had been his star pupil, back when he had been gathering togeather his most trusted followers. _The Inner Circle_. He had taught them, molded them from the time when they were very young. He had been gentle with them then, nothing but smiles and encouragement. Lucius and Severus, especially, had needed that encouragement, coming from families that showed them none. Severus, perhaps, more than Lucius had clung to him as if he were life itself.

But Lucius had always been quicker to pick things up than Severus. Of course, once he understood something Severus could be bested by no one, other than Voldemort himself. Some even speculated that he was more powerful than even Dumbledore. Perhaps some day they would put that to the test.

But Lucius had always understood first, been the first to successfuly complete his lessons. Lucius had always been quicker than Severus, if not stronger in his magic. Lucius had always been able to understand his plans, even at a young age.

Lucius understood, to some extent, what he was trying to do. Understood ...

Understood he had only ever cast the Killing Curse but a handful of times. But it was rare that he said those words with that intent. The intent to kill.

Because intent was the most important part. The words didn't matter, never had. Only the weak minded believed that those words made up the spell. It was the words that allowed you to focus, but for those who were strong enough, who understood the nature of magic enough ... for those select few, they understood that if you had enough control over youself, over your intentions, you didn't even need the words. Sometimes you didn't even need a wand. Sometimes ... sometimes you could just _think_ it, and it would happen.

Lucius understood that he was doing something ... something else. Something other than simply killing the unfortunate mudbloods he came across, something other than simply murdering those wizards and witches who dared to stand against him. He _knew_ they weren't dieing -- not in the way everybody supposed. He had watched, on so many occassions, the way Voldemort would say the words of the Unforgivable, green light filtering out of his wand to collide with his victim. But there was no pain -- surprise, a gasp or scream, before the body would collapse. A shimmer would fill the air, and another body would appear next to the victim -- identicle in all ways, save for the lack of a soul within it's confines. He would cast the Killing Curse then, yes. But he didn't really count that as murder -- the body was only a husk, a shell. There was no soul, no life within it to kill.

But Lucius didn't know what happened to the real person, left alive but petrified.

Of course, he still indulged in sport. He hated Muggled as fiercely as he ever had, perhaps even more than he hated _Potter_. Just the thought of that insolent whelp, ready to put an end to all of his hard work, made his blood boil with rage. Sport he reveled in, as did all of his followers.

But only Lucius understood there was more at stake here than the annihilation of all Muggled. Only Lucius understood he had a plan, tucked away somewhere in that crafty mind of his. If Dumbledore ever learned of this well-guarded plan ... even just got a whiff of it ... it would all be ruined.

So he had to keep Lucius close to himself, had to protect the blonde aristocrat, had to keep him close and guarded. Perhaps the blonde would prove useful in the future.

--

Severus Snape watched as his Master helped Lucius Malfoy to his feet, touch gentle as he drew the man in to his embrace.

Only the most trusted -- the Inner Circle -- had been brought to rescue Lucius. If any of the other Death Eaters were to see their Lord behaving in such a way, they would never understand the gentle touches and soothing words he spoke the man in his arms. They had never seen this side of their Master, the almost fatherly way he cradled Lucius in his arms.

Ah, Lucius. He had always been the Dark Lord's favourite, more of a son than a student. There were many times when Lucius would be found in the Lord's chambers, sleeping in his rooms or eating as his private table. And he had been awarded privelaged that others had not. Going with their lord on special trips,coming back with the stench of Unforgiveables on his person -- he had helped their lord in his most delicated of missions, and for that, Severus had always been jealous.

And even now, Voldemort gave him privelages no other wold dare to take, as Lucius clung desperately to him. The Dark Lord murmured soothing words to his star pupil, arms circling around the too-thin form of the blonde as he rubbed soothing circles on his back. Lucius seemed unaware of the others in the room with them, and Severus couldn't say he blamed him. He could clearly remember his own reaction to the few short weeks he had spent with the Dementors in this place ...

Lucius was a mess. His clothes were tattered, blonde hair matted and dirty. When skin he could see -- and there was a lot of it -- was covered with scrapes and bruises, and what looked like scratch marks from what he could only imagine were his own long fingernails. Lucius had always prided himself on his immaculate fingernails, immaculate just like everything else about him. Those fingernails were now bitten down until there was nearly nothing left of them, the ends of his fingertips raw and bloody. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his lips chapped and peeling. His cheeks were pale, even paler than normal, with two bright spots of color on each of his gaunt cheeks. All in all, he looked a fright.

"Severus, get back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore will be missing you soon. Tell him _nothing_ of what you have witnessed here. I don't care what you tell him, but do _not_ tell him of Lucius' freedom." Severus nodded shortly at the command, turning on his heel and heading out of his Lord's private chambers.

It was time to put his lessons training as a spy to good use.


	8. Chapter 8

And, to make up for the long wait between chapters ….. a super long chapter! Or, well, super long for me. I write with a much smaller font than uses, (8 pt) and for me the chapter is over 4 pages long, so it should be enough to tide y'all over until the next chappie :-) Maybe? Enjoy! And remember to feed the author!

Also, I feel that I should mention something at this point. I am American. Not English. And therefore, I'm probably making some pretty large cultural errors. Do they even have grilled cheese sandwiches in Britian? Or use words such as "kiddo"? I don't know, and I'm not really sure how to find out. And since I don't even have a beta reader at this point, I don't see that changing any time soon. However, if anybody notices any glaring mossions or errors, please feel free to point them out in a review! I'd very much appreciate it :)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Harry had been asleep for barely an hour before he jerked awake, hand flying to his scar more out of habit than anything else. There was no pain, lingering or otherwise, but he still clutched at it as if it were burning with pain.

It should have been. There should have been blood, he should have been screaming in pain. After a vision like that …

He felt as he always did after a vision, except for the loss of the ever-present pain. The usual splitting head-ache was right there in the back of his temple, just like always. But the stinging, pounding pain that caused him to sob in desperation was gone.

A vision. That was what he had just had, wasn't it? A vision of Voldemort laying his plan out so clearly for Harry to see. Another world, filled with people Voldemort had supposedly killed. A world where his parents had lived, unaware of what was happeneing, of what they had been stipped of.

That meant that the people sleeping just down the hall from him were really his parents. That they weren't lying, that they were really hurting for him, with him. Because of him. Not that hurting the people he cared about the most was anything new to him. But it still hurt.

But something held him back from jumping up to stop yet another scheme of Voldemort.

He didn't believe it.

Harry folled over on to his side, staring blankly at the opposite wall. He had his proof - at least as much proof as he had ever needed before. So what was holding him back now? What held his anger in check, what made him think twice where before he had run headlong into danger with nary a second thought?

It felt wrong. Wrong to have this vision, that explained everything so clearly. It was too convenient, to have everyting laid out for him _just the way he had wanted_. That was it, wasn't it? This was what he'd been hoping for, what he'd been _praying_ for. An explanation, a way to have both worlds and be happy. And he'd gotten it.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Harry squeezed his eyes tightly closed as those first seeds of doubt blossomed into a full blown flower.

_What if this was real? What if they were right?_

_----- ----- ----- ----- ----- _

He slept fitfully that night, and awoke to find the sun already high in the sky.

It had been a long time since he'd slept in so late - at Hogwarts he had to up early for breakfast, and at the hospital the curtains were usually closed until around noontime, so he was never sure when he woke up. He could have gotten up and found a nurse to tell him the time, but it hadn't really been worth the effort.

Harry rolled out of the bed, stumbling to his feet and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He knew James had come in at some point last night, but he had steadfastly ignored the man as he pulled the covers more securely over his body and smoothed his ever-unruly hair back from his face.

There were no sounds coming from downstairs, but Harry admitted to himself with a sigh that the likelihood they had left him alone in the house was pretty slim. They had been hovering far too much recently to ever do something like that.

Leaning heavily against the desk next to his bed until his legs could regain their strength, Harry breathed a soft sigh as he finially pushed himself away from the comforting feel of something under his grip, starting on still-shaky legs toward the semi-open door that led out into the hall. Of course, getting down those stairs was going to be interesting.

He hugged the wall until he got to the stairs, and then it was the railing of the stairs that he clung to as if his life depended on it. He made it halfway down the stairs - that he was positive were getting longer just to spite he him, he was sure of it! -- before he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He continued on anyway, his feet just touching the landing as James came crashing down the stairs after him, hands going under his arm pits as he was pushed against the opposite wall.

James looked him over frantically, chocolate brown eyes searching his body for any bumps and bruises, before he finally loosened his grip with a sigh. "Harry, you can't walk around like this! It isn't good for your legs."

Harry winced slightly at the volume of the man's voice, before shrugging his shoulders, glancing down and away from James. "I got hungry." He muttered softly, still not looking at the man as he splayed his left hand along the wall behind himself, scratching lightly at the surface of the wallpaper.

"Look, Harry, I know this is hard for you. I know. But your still to weak to be moving around like this on your own. You could end up hurting yourself pretty bad, okay?" James pulled away from his son, rubbing a hand over his face as he turned to stare down the hallway, not really seeing anything at all. "How about this - we turn my office into a bedroom for you?" He turned back his son with a slight smile. "I'll have to run it past Lily, but…"

Harry nodded, finially raising his eyes to meet those of the older man. "Can I get something to eat now?"

James laughed outright at that, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, sure. C'mon, I think we've still got some cereal somewhere. Lils is supposed to go shopping either today or tomorrow."

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. He offered no argument when James took his arm, helping him to the kitchen, however.

_----- ----- ----- ----- ----- _

Lily came downstairs some time later, as Harry was just finishing his scrambled eggs and bacon. She smiled warmly ar him, before moving over to give James a kiss on the cheek from where he was doing the dishes in the sink. He'd actually had to give Harry a paper plate, since nearly all of the dishes were so dirty. With all of their other plans and preparations for Harry's homecoming, somehow the dishes had simply been overlooked.

James grinned sheepishly at her, before turning back to his work with a relish. Lily smiled, shaking her head, before joining Harry at the table, leaning forward slightly and folding her arms on the table, resting her head on them. "How long have you two been awake?"

"About an hour." James answered before Harry could even open his mouth, wiping his hands on a nearby dish towel. "How about some coffee?"

"Coffee would be wonderful." Lily smiled at her husband, before turning her eyes toward her step-son once again. "A nurse is going to be coming by around noon, but other than that, the entire day is free. Is there anything you'd like to do?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders in what was quickly becoming his answer to everything, picking idly at his food with his fork. James had mixed some cheese in with his eggs, and while tasty, he just couldn't stomach it. The doctors had said that this was completely normal, and his stomach needed time to get used to solid foods again. All that he knew, was that eating made him sich. That, and it was bloody annoying.

"Well, we could cook something, or maybe watch something on the telly. Or you could come outside with me while I work in the garden. "

Harry was looking at her in interest now, and Lily smiled back at him. "Could we go outside?"

"Of course we can!" Lily glanced up, smiling at James in thanks as she accepted her coffee. "I've got a pretty big garden out back - you used to love running underfoot while I worked in it during the summer. " Lily smiled at the memory, taking a tentative sip from her coffee.

Harry nodded, glancing down at the table with a faraway look in his eyes. While he had never been allowed to actually tend to Aunt Petunia's precious vegetables or flowers, he had often been set to the task of weeding the edge of the garden - though punishment was severe if he pulled up the wrong type of root. He'd always enjoyed it, though, getting down on his knees in the dirt and actually doing something productive, rather than just sweeping floors or cutting the grass. It was certaintly better than cleaning the bathroom.

"Well, I'd better get dressed if we're going to spend the morning outside. James, why don't you grab Harry some of your old jeans? We'll have to go shopping for him soon." James merely rolled his eyes at that statement, causing Lily to swat him on the arm playfully.

James had to root around in the attic before he found a pair of jeans small enough that they didn't just fall of Harry's small frame the mo ment he moved. By the time he had convinced James that he could dress himself and had finially gotten someo privacy, Lily was already out in the hall, running a brush through her long red hair.

James closed the door behind himself, heaving a small sigh and smiling at his wife. He leaned against the wall beside his son's room with a sigh, head resting against the imitation wood as he stared off into space. Lily kissed him gently on the cheek, shaking her head slightly as she moved down the hallway to the bathroom.

Inside his bedroom, Harry ran his fingers through his messy black hair, before pulling on an oversized t-shirt and finially letting himself practically collapse back on to the bed. How could just getting dressed take so much energy?! He felt like he had just run a marathon! And all he'd done was put on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

Glancing at the shoes lined up along the end of his bed, he gave a heartfelt sigh before bending down with a grunt to pick them up. Unlike the rest of his clothes, these actually fit, and he tied them quickly, hands shaking slightly before forcing himself across the room and out the door.

James was there waiting for him, a smile on his face that looked somewhat forced. Harry returned it, even though he knew it came out looking more like a grimace than anything else.

"You ready, Harry?" Harry nodded, smiling slightly as Lily practically ran down the hallway to him. She liked her right arm through his left, starting toward the stairs. With one person on either side of him, they started down the stairs and out the door.

The sun felt nice, Harry reflected some time later. Lily was down on her hands and knees, tending to her flowers as James worked in the vegetable garden further along the way. He himself had dozed off once or twice since coming outside, but always jerked awake with no memory of any dreams.

The sun was high in the sky now, and Harry couldn't have guessed the time if somebody had asked him. Which was strange, because he had always been able to guess how close it was to lunch time when working on his chores outside before. No matter, though. He wasn't even remotely hungry, and was actually quite comfortable.

Lily had brought out a blanket at some point, and he was now bundled up in it. While the sun was beating down full force and James and Lily were moving around in shorts and t-shirts, he was still freezing cold. He couldn't seem to stay warm, either - he was constantly bringing the blanket closer, wrapping himself more securely in it's warmth as shiveres racked his body.

He should have been trying to escape. He should have been fighting them, not enjoying their company and their backyard. They had to be working for Voldemort - who else would come up with something this crazy? James and Lily Potter were dead, it was as simple as that. And these people were insane if they thought he'd buy their story.

But at the same time, everything they said, everything they did made sense. They didn''t lie to him, didn't use destiny as a convenient excuse for their actions, the way that Professor Dumbledore did. Hell, the only reason that Voldemort had ever wanted to kill him was because of his damned destiny!

But these people - they never once mentioned destiny, or prophecy. In fact, they claimed magic didn't even exist. Certaintly not something he would expect from a follower of Voldemort, and most definitely not something Voldemort himself would ever say. After all, this entire war was based on whether or not muggles and muggle-borns had the right to even exist.

And yet, here were these people, apparently muggles, so close in appearance to his own parents. There were differences from the pictures he had seen, but those pictures were over a decade old, so there were bound to be changes over the years.

But he didn't _want_ to believe. That was it, wasn't it? That was the core of all of this. It wasn't whether or not they were being truthful, although if they weren't then he was in serious danger. But a large part of him didn't _want_ them to be telling the truth. Because if they were, then his entire life was a lie.

His friends, his school, his knowledge …. All of it was a lie, if they were telling the truth. None of it had even been real, just some fantasy his injured mind had come up with to keep him satisfied, trapped within his own mind.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Harry glanced away from the garden, over to the fence that separated them from the neighbors. It was a nice fence, painted white and raising high up. Nice, just like everything else here. The garden, the house, the pool over to the other side. He wouldn't mind going for a dip in there when he was feeling better …

There was somebody looking at him through the fence. Harry frowned, green eyes meeting blue as the two boys stared at each other. It was a boy, slightly younger than him, blue eyes and bright red hair.

Red hair just like Ron's.

Harry swallowed, throat suddenly tight as he glanced away from the fance, focusing on James and Lily as they worked on the garden.

Ron and Hermione. He hadn't given much thought to them before now. He hadn't really thought about what this would mean for them - for the _people_ he knew. The Weasleys, hell, even Malfoy. Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Ron, Neville, Hermione …. Had he simply made them all up? Were they just figments of his imagination?

He must have one hell of an imagination!

Harry burrowed deeper into his blanket, glancing at the fence from the corner of his eye. The boy was still there, staring intently at him.

"James?" Harry called out, raising his head slightly as he called out to the man. Lily was the one who answerd, however, abandoning her gardening to walk over to him. "Do you want to go in, Harry?"

Harry nodded, motioning with his hand toward the fence with a frown. Lily followed the motion of his hand, smiling as the boy disappeared from the fance with a yelp.

"Ron." She said softly. Harry head jerked up at that, and she smiled at his look of surprise. "Ron Weasley. They live next door."

Harry nodded, eyes straying once again over to the fence as he frowned. Was that where he had gotten the name, the flaming red hair? Perhaps even the personality of his best friend? Was it all based on some kid who had lived next door to him?

"You two used to play sometimes, when you were younger. He's a couple of years younger than you." Lily smiled down at him, rubbing her hand against the back of his head as she helped him up, still bundled up in the blankets. "Still cold?"

Harry nodded, glancing away from the fence finially as they stepped inside. James waved from the garden, before continuing to pull at the weeds with a vengeance. He, too, was soon out of sight as the moved further into the house, Harry practically collapsing on to the couch as Lily disappeared into the kitchen. She soon reappeared with a glass of juice and a couple small pills.

"Doctors orders." She said, smiling apologetically as she handed them to him. Harry made a face, but took them anyway, sipping at the juice experimentally before he downed all three pills in one go.

Lily blinked in surprise at that, shaking her head before taking the glass back. "You are most definitely your father's son." She said, lips twisting into another one of those half smiles Harry had seen her use so much on James.

He flashed her a grin for the comment, before slipping down to lay his head on the head rest, legs curled behind himself so that they were touching against his butt. Lily disappeared into the kitchen once again, calling out once she was inside. "What do you want for lunch?"

"I'm not really hungry." Harry called back, closing his eyes tiredly.

Lily glanced up at the ceiling of the kitchen, giving a heartfelt sigh before heading back to the sitting room with a determined look on her eyes. She leaned over the back of the couch, staring at her step-son. When he didn't respond to her approach, she cleared her throat loudly, causing the dark-haired youth to jump in surprise. "You need to eat, Harry."

Harry shrugged, turning his head so that he could look at her without getting up. "I'm still stuffed from breakfast." He said softly, face scrunching up as he held back a yawn.

"How about some soup, then? And some grilled cheese sandwiches?" When Harry nodded reluctantly, she smile brightly at him, causing a small smile to break out over his face.

She was just finishing the sandwiches and had put the soup in the microwave to cook when James came in from outside, running his fingers through his messy black hair, made even messier from the wind she could hear rushing against the house. "What'cha cooking?"

"Nothing for you, nosey. Harry wasn't very hungry, so it's soup and sandwiches for lunch. I'll make something for us in a bit."

"I could help." James said with a smile, at which Lily backed away from him, holding the spatula up in a defensive posture.

"You come near my kitchen, James Potter, and I will teach you just why a woman is dangerous." She narrowed her eyes, edging around him to get to the stove.

"Oh, come on, Lils. I'm not _that_ bad of a cook."

Lily glanced over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised. "Not that bad of a cook? James, you almost _burnt the house down_ last time. Remember? Birthday cake? Screaming like a little girl?"

"Yes, well, I can't help how you scream, Mrs. Potter. I, howeve - eek!" James jumped up from the table as Lily advanced toward him, the now sticky spatula raised in a threatening manner. He escaped into the sitting room, collapsing onto a chair near his son. "She's crazy Harry, I swear."

Harry grinned at him, head raised from the arm rest of the couch as he watched the older man settle himself into the chair. He had been listening to them through the open doorway, and now couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face as hard as he tried.

They sounded in love, didn't they? Not like his aunt and uncle, who never touched or kissed aside from the normal one when Vernon would leave for work in the morning. James and Lily - they really acted like they were in love, like they wanted to be together. It was …. Nice.

He settled his head back down on the couch, watching as James flipped through a magazine until Lily came out, helping him to sit up and leading him toward the kitchen.

He hated this. Hated how much the sight of food made his stomach do little flips, as if considering mutiny. Hated how much his legs hurt, how tired he was all the time. All he had done was sit in a chair in the back yard, for crying out loud!  
"Things will get better, Harry." Lily commented as he tucked in to the meal, blowing slightly on the chicken soup to cool it before taking a sip. When he glanced quizzicly at her, she continued. "Your tiredness. Your legs. The doctor warned us it would be like this in the beginning. He was kind of against us taking you home, really. We promised we'd get you into the pool, though. To work your legs." Maybe we could do that tomorrow?"

Harry perked up at that, raising his head to stare at her in surprise. "I could go swimming?"

Lily smiled at that, nodding her head. "Yes, of course. We got the pool for you. Remember?"

Harry ducked his head, more intent on his soup now than before as Lily sighed softly, glancing up to meet James' eyes. He simply shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

After a short nap on the couch, Harry busied himself with watching the telly as James and Lily retreated into James' study to talk. Most of the programmes were either boring, or he didn't understand, and he finially settled on some cartoons. They were different from what he remembered catching glimpses of as a child, drawn better and with far better storylines - almost sitcoms, they were so involved. It didn't take long for him to get into them, so much so that he didn't even noticed when James joined him on the couch.

"Lils gave the okay to move you downstairs, so were gonna start moving your stuff down today, okay?" Harry nodded, turning his head slightly so that he could see the man easier.

"Can I help?"

James hesitated slightly, worrying his bottom lip. "Why don't you just watch your cartoons? I don't think your up to lifting anything." Harry nodded, turning his attention back to the telly as James left the room.

He didn't know how to act around him. Lily was actually easier than James, perhaps because she acted so much like he remembered Mrs. Weasley acting around Ron and Ginny, and to a smaller extent him.

But James … James was different. James was a guy, first of all, and wouldn't be happy just cooking him lunch or setting him up to sleep. He wanted to talk, wanted to do things. And he hovered. Oh, did he hover. Always there, always trying to do things for him. Hell, the man had wanted to help him get _dressed_ this morning. If that wasn't a sign of impending doom, Harry wasn't sure what was.

And feeling like a helpless child didn't make matters any better. He was incapable of doing anything other than sleeping and watching the telly, at this point. Maybe swimming tomorrow would help, but then again, maybe not. He couldn't imagine this pain in his legs ever going away.

Closing his eyes, Harry gave a heartfelt sigh before turning the telly off and rolling over so that he was facing the back of the couch as he wrapped his arms around his middle.

Lily sat down on her step-son's bed, eyes downcast as she stared at the floor. They had moved most of his furniture downstairs, and now needed to start on the smaller things. Some tings they wouldn't even bother moving down, but would just go into storage - younger books that he wouldn't be interested in reading anymore, for one.

James settled down on the bed beside her, rubbing a hand across her back and smiling slightly. It didn't reach his eyes, however, and he quickly glanced away to stare sightlessly out the bedroom door.

"I just wish that he would remember _something_!" Lily ground her teeth goeather tightly, standing up suddenly to pace across the room to the window. James smiled sadly, letting out a sigh as he stood to his feet.

"It's gonna take time, Lils. And Patience. I think the second is gonna be what does me in ..."

His comment got the expected laugh, and Lily turned back toward him with a genuine smile. "James, your insane."

James grinned, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly before turning back toward the room and rubbing his hands togeather. Lily followed his lead, still shaking her head.

Harry awoke some time later to somebody shaking his shoulder. He jerked awake, turning an expecting to find James or Lily. Instead, he found himself staring face to face at a ghost.

Eyes wide, Harry stared at him for all of two seconds before he jumped slightly, throwing his arms around the man's neck and holding on for dear life. "Sirius!"

Sirius Black blinked, frowning as he tried to figure out just what was going on. Why was Jamesie-boy hugging him? "James? Is everything ... okay?"

A small laugh could be heard behind him, and that just made Sirius frown even more. "I don't think that's James, Sirius." Remus Lupin grinned at his childhood friend turned roommate, watching as Sirius pulled the younger boy from his grasp.

"Harry?" Sirius ran the fingers of his left hand through his godson's yet black hair, marvelling yet again at how much James and Harry looked alike. He hadn't visitied the boy much after his coma, mostly because it just hurt too much to see the normally lively boy sick and pale like that, with apparently no inclination to live his life. Too content to live in his fantasy world. And it had always shocked him, when he did go and see the boy, just how much he looked like his father, more and more every day.

Harry couldn't help grinning like an idiot, throwing his arms once again around his godfather. He knew, logically, that if James and Lily didn't remember Hogwarts and the magical world, that Sirius wouldn't either. He probably had just as many memories and stories about the life he had supposedly lead _here_ as James did. And Professor Lupin ...

Harry stared at him over Sirius' shoulder, eyes widening slightly at how bad the man looked. His hair was combed, and his clothes relatively new, but other than that, he looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and red, his face thin and haggard, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. One hand was supporting him against the side of the couch, and the other was settled on his left hip. Even then, Harry could see how much that other hand was shaking, and he could only imagine what the other man would be like if he didn't have that support.

Pulling away from his godfather, Harry continued to stare at his former professor, eyes narrwing slightly as he brought them up to meet Remus'. "What ..." His voice trailed off, head cocked slightly to the side.

Remus laughed softly, although there was no humor in it. "I look pretty bad, don't I?" He shook his head, throwing a glance over at Sirius. "Siri tries, and so does that infernal woman he hired. But I know I must look a mess to you, Harry. Where are your parents?"

Harry hesitated slightly, before twisting slightly and pointing in the direction they had gone. Remus followed the line of his finger first with his eyes, and then with his body, careful to support himself against something as long as he could.

Sirius watched him go, worrying on his lower lip, before he finally turned his attention back to his godson. "How are you feeling, buddy? Your dad _conviently_ forgot to mention that you were coming home, or we would have brought a bit more than just ourselves." Sirius settled himself down on the couch next to his godson, moving his left hand to the back of the boy's head and playing with the strands of messy black hair he found there.

Harry smiled, although it was not as exuberant as his earlier reaction. "What's wrong with Remus?"

Sirius sighed, pulling away from the younger boy and setting back against the couch, both of his hands going behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling for a moment before focusing back on his godson. "He's pretty sick, Har. Has been for a long time. Jamesie told me you don't really remember much, but ... we don't like to mention it around him. Try to make him feel like he's normal, you know? Like he can lead a normal life."

"Harry nodded, ducking his head. "Sorry." He muttered, a blush creeping up his neck. "I didn't know."

Sirius merely laughed at that, ruffling his godson's already tousled black hair. "No worries kiddo. You want something to drink? I'm gonna grab a beer."

Harry nodded, relaxing back against the couch once against and watching Sirius until the older man was no longer in his line of sight.

Sirius returned a moment later, handing Harry a glass of juice and taking his own beer to an armchair to the right of the couch, watchng as Harry sat up straighter to take a sip from his drink before carefully setting it on the floor and curling back up on the couch.

They sat like that for a few minutes in comfortable silence, eachlost within his own thoughts, until Sirius finially broke the silence. "Was I there?"

Harry glanced up in confusion, head cocked slightly to the side so that only the edge of his head touched the couch beneath him. He had some idea what Sirius was asking, but he'd rather the man elaborate.

"In your fantasy world, Harry. Was I there?"

Harry nodded, glancing absently at the floor, as if his glass of juice was the most interesting thing in the world. "James and Lily were dead, and I didn't know you until a couple of years ago. You had been .. framed .. for their murder." He glanced back up at his godfather, smiling slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"A convicted felon? Wow. Glad to see you think so highly of me." A short laugh followed those words, along with a grin to soften their blow. Harry gave a small smile, but otherwise made no reaction to his godfather's words, still staring down at the floor with a lost look on his face.

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Not the best ending place in the world, I know. But ... my muse is leaving me. Again. Plus, I'm sick. Does that count as an excuse? Meh. Hope y'all enjoy, and don't forget to feed the author! Also, a quick apology -- I currently have no beta reader -- they always seem to dissappear on me! And therefore, I'm sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors you might find through out the story. I do try to go through it before submitting it to the site, but ... sometimes I just miss stuff. Plus, like I said, sick. So I'm obviously missing more than usual.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N : I am attempting to incorporate more British slang into this story, seeing as it is supposed to take place in and around Great Britian. Therefore, if you don't recognise a word, please refer to the bottom of the page, where some quick descriptions have been given. I hope I'm using these terms correctly; if you're British and it seems out of place, please let me know! I'll probably screw up once or twice .... :)

Draco Malfoy had never met his half-brother, aside from one short visit to the hospital several years ago -- and he hardly counted that. His mother had prattled on for nearly fourty-five minutes, talking about their lives, about his father and his work with Alberto Michedelli. She hadn't spoken on Mr. Michedelli at length, though she had made sure to say he was a good man; a family man, from an old family. He and Lucius didn't get along well, she had said, hadn't for years. Not since their childhood.

Draco hadn't known that ; his father was nothing but polite whenever the other man came around the house. But he was that way with everyone; a charmer, always working to gain status in their little group. Draco wasn't quite sure what they did, what sort of business it was. But it was well paying, and he had always gotten the impression it had something to do with the government; they were constantly talking about the state of things in the Ministry, after all.

That had been the only time he had met his half-brother, and he hadn't thought much about it at the time. More important things had demanded his attention; his friends, school, football practice. He'd rarely thought about his brother all these years, other than the few fights he had with his friends, were they claimed he was a spoiled only child. And technically he was; an only child, that is.

But now ... Harry was awake. Honestly, he hadn't expected it to happen _ever_, let alone so soon. He'd often heard his mother and father arguing; mostly about whether or not the other boy was braindead or not. About whether or not they should '_pull the plug_'.

Now, of course, those arguments seemed silly. Harry was awake; which meant he had never been brain dead, he had never been the empty shell Lucius had thought him. It made Draco slightly giddy, to see his father proven wrong, taken down a few pegs.

They were going to see Harry tomorrow ; he was even being allowed to skip school, so he could go with his parents. To see his brother. What was he supposed to say? To do?

To _wear_?!

His hands were shaking violently as Harry pushed hiimself up onto his elbows, the nightmare lurking on the edges of his vision. His glasses lay a short distance away, but he made no move to reach for them, simply lay there for a moment and breathed deeply; in and out, in and out.

Voldemort again. So predictable, the way the man would talk and act; his targets were never predictable, thankfully not many were familiar to Harry's memory. But his actions upon reaching those targets? Very predictable.

He wanted to be back in Hogwarts; at least there he had a chance of doing some good. True, he would probably just be stuck in classes, but at least he had some knowledge of what was going on, what the Order was doing to fight Voldemort. Here .... here, thy wanted him to believe the madman had never even existed!

He couldn't do that. Not after so long, not after so many battles and heartbreaks. The man had taken Cedric, had taken Sirius. Had taken his childhood.

James watched from the doorway as his son sat there, trying to catch his breath. Did he know he had screamed in his sleep? James doubted it.

But he had -- screamed Voldemort, though just who or what that was supposed to be, only his son knew.

Did Lily? Had Harry mentioned these words, these people, before? There was anger there, yes, when he thought about that. That his wife had hidden this from him; it had been a breakthough, he was sure of it! A precursor to Harry's waking. And that was what she had been afraid he would think; afraid that he would be wrong. But he should have been allowed to be wrong!

Taking a deep breath, James slowly eased the door closed most of the way, leaving a thin crack should his son become distressed again. He wanted to be there for his son; he just didn't know _how_. What did you do, what did you say to a son who didn't even remember his own father? Who didn't seem to _want_ to remember?

"You need to give him some space." James whirled around, eyes slightly wide as he took in the sight of his wife, a deep red robe hanging loose around her small frame, revealing the white cotton nightgown she wore beneath. It was unemroidered, no lace or fancy designs to liven it up. That was one of the things he loved about her; the simpleness of her. No ulterior motives, no grand scheme. Just Lily.

But right now, Lily was glaring at him, and James felt his own anger rising at the sight. "What the bloody hell am I _supposed_ to do, Lil? Just sit back and do _nothing_?"

Lily simply shook her head, starting to turn away from him. James was having none of that, however; this confrontation had been a long time coming.

Lily gave a sharp gasp, eyes widening slightly in fear as she stared up at her husband. James chose to ignore the look however; normally he would have been appalled he had hurt the woman he loved, but not now. Not when he was this angry. "Listen to me, Lily. I can't -- We can't -- just sit back and do nothing! He was _screaming_!"

Lily said nothing for a moment, her face hardening for a second before she opened her mouth to speak. Too afraid of her response -- afraid of some kind of technical mumbo-jumbo the doctors had been feeding her (and attempting to feed him) ever since Harry's awakening, James spoke before she had the chance.

"But I guess you wouldn't understand -- you've never had any childeren of your own."

It was a low blow -- James could see it in her eyes in the way her entire body stiffened for a moment before she jerked out of his grasp. He let her go this time, watching impassively as she took a step back, away from him. "I think ... I think I'll go and visit my mother." She said softly, green eyes slightly watery as she inched her chin up, refusing to let him see her crumble.

James simply snorted, turning back to his son's door. "Of course you will." He muttered, but said nothing more as he heard the sound of her footsteps retreating, the door to their bedroom slamming shut.

Harry slept fitfully that night, waking early in the morning to the sound of dishes clanging together, his father's voice drifting down the hall. He seemed to be speaking to somebody, but no voice answered his questions. A fire call .....? No. Of course not. The telephone, then. Or maybe the man was just as insane as he had first thought.

Struggling to a sitting position, Harry breathed a small sigh as his back protested sharply, breathingi deeply to keep from crying out in pain. That was _just_ what he needed; James, or, Merlin forbid, Lily, to come barreling down the hallway to save him from _himself_.

That seemed to be all people were doing lately -- protecting him, telling him how to move, how to shift his weight _just so_, lest his body scream in protest. And it didn't matter that they were invariably right; it was still damn annoying. Whatever had been done to him had to have a cure, a fix, a counterspell. Not that he knew that spell; and the chances of finding it were slim to none, until he could make his way back to Hogwarts.

As he made his way down the hall, still clad in his night clothes and with nothing more than a pair of socks upon his feet, however, nobody came out instantly to check on him, as has been the constant state practically since he had woken in the hospital.

At the door to the kitchen; just an arhed doorway, no actual door to open to close, he stopped to watch as James stood before the kitchen sink, telephone pressed between his left ear and shoulder. His hands were wet and covered in soap as he placed a plate to the side, on to a thick towel, presumably to dry. Though his back was to the door, it was obvious that the call was not a pleasant one, from the tenseness of his shoulders as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

His hands he kept busy, however, reaching for another dish as beginning to clean that one as well; a cup, Harry saw now, as he slowly made his way in to the room.

James made no move he had heard the teen, however, simply adjusted the phone against his shoulder. "No, no! Just take her off the account, you hear me? It was mine in the first place--" He paused to listen again, giving a frustrated sigh. "No, I don't need time to think about this, for chrissake. Just do it."

Harry rose one eyebrow, reaching for an orange from the bowl in the center of the kitchen table. Slowly he began peeling it, wincing slightly at the pain it induced in his fingernails. Trying to focus his attention on something other than the pain, he focused once again on the conversation taking place before him, head tilted slightly to the side as he alternated between staring at James and focusing his attention downards, to his task.

"Thank you!" James pulled the phone away from his ear, hitting a button on the cordless phone before slamming it none to gently down on the counter beside him. Harry gave a slight jump at the sudden noise, and James whipped around at the unexpecfted noise, a butter knife raised slightly as if in warning. Harry eyed the knife warily, fingers tightening around he orange before James gave a weak smile, tossing the knife back to _splash_ in to the sink behind him. James made a slight face as some of the soapy water splashed on to the back of his shirt, before forcing a smile on to his lips. "Hey, I didn't hear you come in. Sleep well?"

Harry nodded, watching as the man wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel, moving toward the refrigerator. "These things cost a bomb, you know." James commented as he pulled a small box out and set in on the table. "I was a bit cheesed off, to tell the truth, when Lily came home with them. Thought you might like 'em, though."

Harry peered in to the box, leaning to the left to get a better look. Underneath a wire mesh sat what looked like extremely small oranges, and James gave a small jerk of his head. "Go ahead, try one."

Slowly picking his way past the wire mesh, Harry selected one of the pieces of fruit, surprised at how easily he was able to peel back the skin. The fruit itself came apart into triangles similar to those of an orange, only smaller and sweeter to the taste as he quickly demolished the fruit before reaching for another.

James gave a short laugh, moving away as his son began to eat greedily. They hadn't tried particularly hard to cook anything Harry truly enjoyed; simply going by the foods he had enjoyed nearly half a decade ago. The boy's taste buds had obviously changed; it used to be he couldn't stand oranges. Or apples. Hell, he had seemed to have some kind of a vendetta against fruit in general.

Shaking his head, James returned to the dishes with a sigh.

Tired. That's what he was -- tired, and irritable. And the last thing he wanted, was Lily Potter to come bawling to him about James.

Didn't she generally go to her parents' house for something like this? But no, she had to come _here_, and when Sirius was out to the grocer's, of all times.

The new nurse hadn't lasted long; he hadn't expected her to. Pretty yes, and well behaved. Impeccable hygeine. He and Sirius had had a bit of a flutter about how long she would last, actually; Sirius had lost. Idiot, thinking a pretty face was all it would take to please him. Not that he didn't appreciate the effort, mind you; it was that, for all the years they had known each other, sometimes Sirius' proved how very little they knew each other after all.

Remus forced himself to focus on what Lily was saying, only to barely hold back a roll of the eyes as he realised she still hadn't finished that particular rant. Really, he couldn't blame her for being upset; James _had_ been blunt, a bit rash. He loved her; of that Remus had no doubt. He was jealous sometimes, if only for a moment. That kind of love was not for him, he knew. But sometimes, he would look at them and wonder ...

And then he would look at Harry, and realise just how much pain they still had in their lives. He had expected, after a couple of years, that they would slow their visits, perhaps even stop them. Narcissa had only gone a couple of times in the beginning, before backing off and calling her cousin for updates. He, alone, had been privy to those updates; once, last year, Sirius had even made him do it, too sick to so much as lift his head, never mind deal with his cousin. Pure evil, he claimed. Remus knew better. She was just ... a bit cold. Out of all of them, he had gotten along with Narcissa the best, even better than James. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so sick ...

But no. Nothing there. Don't think about it.

Remus pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before gaining his center of balance. Lily had fallen quiet a moment ago, staring off into space, her lips pursed tightly together. "I'm sorry, Remus. I shouldn't have come to you. You have too much on your plate already." Lily rose herself, reachig for her coat as she did, and Remus' hand shot out to grat her elbow -- ended up with her lower arm instead. Damn his eyesight, failing him more and more lately.

"Lily, would you just calm down for one minute? Damnit woman, this is getting completely out of hand. You've seen James get into arguments with me and Siri before; you know he says things he doens't really mean. Tell me again why he can't do that with you?"

"Because he never has before!" Lily's eyes were suspiciously bright once again, her hands shaking as she stared incredulously at him. "This wasn't some tiny little spat, Remus. We've had those before -- you know that. This was different." Lily drew a shaky breath, turning her head to stare to the side, at the large bookshelf that decorated the center of the wall to her right. It was filled with the usual -- fantasy, classics, even a couple of romances. And books on cancer. So many books on cancer.

They belonged to Sirius, of course. Remus himself far preferred to speak with actual _people_ about his condition, leaving the reading to Sirius. Not that Sirius was normally a very big reader; quite the opposite. But this was different. This was Remus' life they were dealing with.

Letting out her breath slowly, Lily wiped at her eyes with her fre hand, finally glancing back at Remus through the haze of her tears. Remus smiled, moving so that he gripped both her upper arms, adopting a similar stance to hers. "Go to your parents' house, Lily. Sleep. Take it easy. Call Harry tomorrow, talk to James. Don't do anything _rash_."

Lily nodded, moving forward and wrapping her arms around the thinner man.

Harry watched as James continued to wash the dishes, meticulously wiping them clean before stacking them in various cupboards. The kitchen was larger than the one at his aunt and uncles house; to his right sat the door, straight ahead a couple of cupboards, followed by the sink, that curved around the edge of the room. Next came more cupboard space on the right, with hat wall being finished off with the refrigerator. The other wall held only another door, followed by a small stand that held little odds and ends where that wall met the one with the first door; the one he had come in. Plenty of shelf space to prepare food. The table he sat at was right in the middle of the room, rectangular and with four chairs. A bowl of fruit sat in the middle of the table, apples and oranges and the like. His half-peeled orange lay next to the bowl as he dug into another one of the smaller oranges, turning his attention back to James as the man finished with the dishes.

"You feeling up to going out today?" James held a dishtowel in his hands, casually wiping them dry as he leaned back against the sink. His eyes never strayed from his son; never flitted over above his head, or glanced at anything on the walls. Harry had the feeling they would not even glance out the window, if there was one. Other than the one over the sink, showing a view of the street and part of the front yard; a part he hadn't been allowed to view as of yet, only being allowed out back.

"Where would we be going?" Harry asked, quirking one eyebrow and trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was just the way James stared at him; that unerring way of completely focusing on him, never anything else in the room. It was like he was the center of the man's world, at least for these couple of minutes.

"Well, I was thinking about going grocery shopping. We really could use some more food -- and you could tell me what you like, you know? You never used to like mandarin oranges, but we could pick some more up since you seem to like them so much now." James grinned as he said this, eyes finally straying from Harry's face to rest on the box in question with raised eyebrow, glancing back toward his son's face with a grin.

Harry blushed at that, eyeing the small mound of orange skin peelings he had accumulated in the last couple of minutes. James let out a laugh at that, pushing himself away from the sink and tossing the dishtowel on the counter to his left. "Come on, let's get you dressed. We both could use the change of scenery."

James watched as Harry disappeared in to his bedroom, reflecting that, in retrospect, he was lucky that he had the job he did. Nobody had complained when he had asked for the time off; in fact, he had been given a paid vacation of two weeks, after which he would simply be taking his own vacation time -- of which he had quite a bit. Weekends and nights had been for visiting Harry; rarely did he take a day off, and those vacation days had been accumulating ever since Harry had gone into the hospital. It just wasn't the same, taking a vacation with Lily.

But now he had a reason to claim that time off, and most of his coworkers seemed to think he would take all of it now; and none of them seemed to begrudge him that. After all, how often did your son wake from his coma?

Drawing a shaky breath, James took the stairs two at a time, retrieving his wallet and keys from the bedroom before heading back down the stairs. He still had a lot of work to do in his new office, setting things up just the way he liked them; but that could wait. This _was_ his vacation, after all.

Harry was waiting in the doorway of his bedroom when he came back downstairs, a pair of faded blue jeans and a faded, grungy t-shirt his choice today. Despite the sun streaming in through the window, he had also chosen a light jacket, and James winced internally at the sight. The boy was always so _cold_ -- was that normal? Yet another question to pose to the doctor; or even the physical therapist.

Outwardly, however, James grinned at his son, wrapping his left arm around the boy's shoulders as he steered him toward the front door. "So, you liked seeing Sirius last night?"

Harry nodded tentatively, allowing himself to be pulled toward the front door. "Yeah, I mean, I missed him. But .... is there something wrong with ..."

James cut him off before he could continue, shaking his head firmly. "We don't ... we don't like to talk about it. You know, Remus' Cancer. It's been hard on Siri, living with him. Taking care of him. But they've been friends .... well, basically forever. I can't really remember a time when they weren't practically joined at a hip. Ruined quite a few relationships for Sirius, let me tell you. Always chose Remmie over some bird." James shook his head, flashing a grin down at his son. "Always worked out in the end, though. You know, Siri dated Lils 'afore we met? Guess you could say I stole her ... but I don't think Sirius really minded."

Harry pursed his lips tightly together, glancing away from the older man and stepping away from him and into the bright sunshine. The car was just a couple of paces away from the front door, and he took a moment to take in the sight of the front yard, the road, the quiet suburban street he found himself on.

Totally normal. Muggle. Quiet, serene, even peaceful. The kind of street Privet Drive had always strove to be, yet never really succeeded. Mostly his fault, that. Having wizards and witches popping in at random intervals throughout the summer had a tendancy to make a place less than "normal".

The ride to the grocers was spent in silence, Harry leaning against the car door and staring out the window. He recognised nothing, though some things seemed vaguely familar. One town looked just like the other though, right? Nothing special about that.

It was as they were retrieving the cart that Harry was struck with just how out of place he really was; his choice of clothing had been more about what was comfortable than anything else, but around him were children and adults dressed for the summer; shorts and t-shirts, sandals and sneakers. And here he was, dressed as though it was the middle of winter. Well, autumn at the very least.

The sudden stopping of the cart surprised him, sending Harry stumbling forward a couple of steps. James turned to him in alarm, a steadying hand on his upper arm helping Harry to regain his balance. He quickly shrugged the hand off, earning him a _look_ from James -- a look he had seen Mrs. Weasley give Ron enough times to know it meant he was being rude. He ignored the look, however, instead focusing on the reason for their sudden stop.

James leaned across the cart, plucking down a couple of cans seemingly at random. From there James tapped his fingers against the long handlebar of the shopping cart, a penseive look on his face.

"You don't usually do this, do you?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow at the confused look on the man's face. When James looked down at him in surprise, Harry blushed slightly. "It's just ... you look like you don't really know where anything is, and . . . "

James gave a short laugh, nodding as he glanced away once again. "Yeah, Lils usually does the grocery shopping." He offered no further explanation, however, simply started to push the cart foward once again and Harry was forced to continue moving or be left behind.

Not that losing James wasn't a tempting thought, but the chances of actually _getting_ anywhere feeling like this were slim to none. He was barely keeping himself standing as it was; there was no way he would survive a full-out run.

And so they walked. Harry felt himself relying more and more heavily on the shopping cart as the weakness in his legs grew more pronounced, James glancing his way once in a while, but saying nothing.

His legs felt strange.

Harry glanced at James out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the man would make a fuss if he happened to start rubbing at his legs, which had started to sting almost from the moment he had sat down in the car. It was an odd sensation; not exactly pain, but not comfortable, either. Tight. Yes, that was the best way to describe it. His legs felt _tight_.

The trip back was as silent as the trip out had been, Harry's fingers twitching every once in a while as he barely stopped himself from rubbing roughly at his legs -- it wouldn't do any good anyway, right? So no reason to give James even _more_ leverage over him.

However, as he moved to step out of the open car door, his legs finally did what they had been threatening to do for the past half hour; they gave out.

And down he went.

It was really a rather spectacular fall, he came to realise later. And it certainly gained the attention of James, who came dashing around from the other side of the car, dropping the shopping bags in his hands as he came. He almost tumbled head over heels himself, as he dropped to the ground beside his son, hands going around Harry's shoulders.

Their eyes met, and James let out a sigh. "Stupid boy. You should have _told_ me you weren't up to this." His words were muttered, no true ire behind them; more like he was upset with himself. Harry couldn't help but wince anyway, rememberingi all the times Vernon had called him stupid and idiotic -- and the punishment he would recieve because of it.

"Come on, up we go," James murmured, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other moving around his midsection, helping him to stand. The arms did not move once he was up, however, as he started leading Harry indoors.

"The groceries ..." Harry half-heartedly protested, but James simply shook his head. "They can wait." He said firmly, eyes narrowing every so slightly as he met Harry's eyes. Harry shrugged his shoulders, opting to stare at the ground rather than meet that stare. He heard the sigh of frustration from James -- chose to ignore it.

Even with the added support from James, Harry found himself struggling to stay on his feet, let alone walk the short distance to the front door.

He resented the help -- resented the comfort of the arm placed around his shoulders, resented the way James seemed to take to the task so easily; as if it was right, as if there was nothing wrong with this situation. _Everything_ was wrong with this!

It took them nearly five minutes, working together, to make their way inside the front door. Another two minutes later found Harry settled on to the couch, James tucking a blanket around his middle and arranging it over his legs.

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Some Pronounciations -;-

_Michedelli - My-ka-dell-e_

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British to American -;-

_bomb - really expensive_

_cheesed off - pissed off_

_flutter - bet_

_bird - female_

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Author's Note: _I haven't the faintest clue how grocery stores work in England, so I am going to assume they are the same as in America; long shelves filled with food, and registers near the front of the store. I __**have**__ heard, however, that you have to bag your own groceries there -- somebody correct me if I'm wrong?_


End file.
